


Checkmate 'Verse

by Bead



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Animal Transformation, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-03-27
Updated: 2011-07-12
Packaged: 2017-10-21 06:21:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 32
Words: 50,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/221898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bead/pseuds/Bead
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Once upon a time, I wrote a little fic called <i>Checkmate</i> where for some unknown reason, John Sheppard had been turned into a cat.  And then the whole thing took on a life of its own and all of a sudden there were mumble-mumble chapters of the whole thing, and, well.</p><p>It all started, as these things do, with mission, a shaman, a vision quest ceremony they decided to participate in to be sociable, then all of a sudden, things weren't so ceremonial...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. So, Lieutenant Colonel Walks Into a Spirit House On *Two* Legs...

Gata’nah placed the ceremonial plate/disk/thingy into John’s hands with a grave smile. “John Sheppard, we welcome you. May your journey bring you clarity and joy.”

Looking in the old shaman’s eyes, John could hear and see Gata’nah’s sincerity and felt himself smile sincerely in return. “Thanks. Me, too,” he murmured.

Instantly, the familiar warm/tingly/happy feeling of Ancient instrumentation saying “HI!” flooded through him – actually pretty strongly - then he felt very queasy and off-balance. Keeping his eyes closed against the dizziness for a moment, John wondered if he might have been dosed with some vision quest drug. He blinked a few times trying to figure out if he felt drugged when all hell broke loose.

Gata’nah gave a shout – happy, triumphant - and there was a loud crashing noise like someone had knocked one of the benches over and Teyla’s voice rose sharply and Ronon yelped (yelped?) and everything was so distorted, big and people towering over him like he was lying flat on the floor, but he knew he was sitting down, could feel his butt on the cool earth floor. Something was really weird.

The shaman leaned toward him, hand reaching out and John instinctively raised his to keep him at bay until he figured out what was going on and that’s when John realized he _no longer had hands_ and freaked the fuck out.

By the time he and Ronon wrestled their way out of the bush and into the mud, John was about as pissed-off, scared and angry as he had ever been in his life, so once they put him in the basket, he spent some very therapeutic time screaming. Because he was - pretty sure from the paws and the tail – a cat. A very small cat. He couldn’t believe this was happening again.

So stupid! Stupid for walking into a ceremony with an Ancient device. It had been mostly covered in feathers and stuff - hardly recognizable - and was absolutely not glowing until John had…what _had_ he done? McKay would rightfully kick his ass for…

He stopped shredding the inside of the basket abruptly and took an unsteady, deep breath. _McKay._ Dimly, John heard Teyla call his name, but he ignored it. _The medical proxy. Thank God._ Apparently, since he couldn’t do much better than yowl, he was going to need all of Rodney’s word-wrangling skills.

And? Rodney loved cats. Missed his own cat so much he had a picture of him in a frame on his bedside table. For someone as unsentimental as Rodney, that was a lot of missing. Such a strong attachment meant that Rodney probably knew an awful lot about cats.

 _So, actually bonus in a way,_ John thought a little hysterically, because of the knowing things and the missing things. John would gladly put up with a little ear-scritching if that’s what it took to help get them both through this.

 _Okay. This was not going to be as bad as last time._ John was definitely not feeling anything like the cold, alien thoughts or (he gulped in memory) drives of the Iratus bug. He felt more or less like himself. Except for the whole furry, small, four-legged thing and the horror of the whole mess and the _not again/oh yeah, again_ crawled right up his throat and…

He threw himself against the walls of the basket for a little while, cursing and clawing, though this time, he found himself calling for Rodney, even though they weren’t through the gate yet. Even though no one could understand him, he kept calling for Rodney (okay, maybe because nobody could understand him) right on through the halls and into the infirmary, where, to John’s horror, _no one radioed Rodney._

(Compounding John’s horror was that he found himself yelling about the proxy and lawsuits and realized that not only had he been turned into a cat, he’d become his father.)

It turned out that special ops training carried over to being four-legged, which was pretty cool. Once he went to ground, all he had to do was wait for Rodney to come steaming through the doors. John was – in an absolutely vindictively gleeful yet completely justified way – looking forward to it, even while he was shaking like a leaf inside a piece of medical equipment. Elizabeth and Carson were acting like he wasn’t even there. Here. Whatever.

Rodney stormed in, took in the room and the situation in about twenty seconds flat and puffed up into the Wrath of Science. It was awesome.

John closed his eyes for a moment and let the sounds of Rodney’s fury soothe him. He had some time to get his bearings. Rodney had his back.


	2. The Average Cat Does Not Do Long Division

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Once upon a time, John Sheppard got turned into a cat during a mission. Rodney hadn't gone on the mission that day, but he doesn't waste much time getting up to speed.

“Rodney,” Carson’s voice in his ear was rushed and frazzled. “Could you please report to the infirmary immediately?”

“Carson?” Rodney could feel the blood drain from his face. He swiveled in his chair and looked wide-eyed at Radek. “Are they back? I was working…what’s wrong?”

“Everyone’s…” there was a weird howling noise and a clatter. “Fine. It’s just…bloody hell!” the transmission went dead.

“It sounds like they have a wild animal in the infirmary.” Rodney said, panic rising. “And they want me there. Did you hear the gate activate?”

“No, but we did have on earplugs on the better part of the last hour.” Radek gave him a reassuring nod. “Go, Rodney. I will try not to blow up lab while you are gone.”

“Ha,” Rodney replied distractedly, grabbing his jacket.

~~~

Harried-looking nurses pointed Rodney to one of the more private areas of the infirmary where Carson usually put overnight guests. He rounded the corner and stopped, stunned. The place was a wreck. Chairs overturned, stuff scattered all over the floor and a surprising amount of dirt. It was like a localized tornado had gone through.

“Rodney,” Teyla said gratefully, “Thank you for coming.” She was covered in mud down her front and had scratches all over her hands. Ronon stood behind her looking torn up. Actually torn up. His shirt was covered in gaping rents, his arms with scratches and even his dreads looked a little raggedy. He, like Teyla, sported a good deal of mud and about a half a shrub’s worth of leaves in his hair.

“Oh my god, what happened to you? Where’s Sheppard?”

A long, wailing moan came from somewhere near the supply chest. Ronon and Teyla flinched.

“You have to be kidding me,” Rodney breathed, disbelieving. “Again?”

“Not exactly,” Teyla replied cautiously.

Rodney glared at her and charged to the back of the alcove. Carson and another white-coated person were bending over, making kissy noises at something underneath the equipment. Elizabeth was standing well out of the way, arms crossed tight and frowning.

“Rodney,” she said, letting out a long, relieved, sigh.

“Yes, yes, the cavalry’s here. Where is he?”

“Rodney.” Carson stood, his shoulders drooping. “Thank god.”

“Carson,” Rodney gritted out between his teeth. “Where is Sheppard?”

“Under here,” the other white coat – a woman – said. “We can’t seem to get him out.”

“Moorrrrow,” Sheppard stated.

Rodney smiled grimly. “It sounds like he wants to stay put, Doctor…”

She glared at him. “Vasha. Xenobiology and veternarian?”

“I take it,” he said stiffly, “John's a new sort of animal and you’ve done something horrible to frighten him.”

Dr. Vasha opened her mouth to take umbrage, but Carson held up a gentling hand.

“He’s a cat,” Carson said, resigned. “From what we can tell, an Earth-style domestic shorthair. And we were just going to get a wee bit of blood.”

“Did you tell him that’s what you were doing?”

“Yes, of course we did, we got the clippers out and…”

Rodney held up a hand. “Oh, for...clippers.”

“He got a bit stroppy,” Carson finished sheepishly, rubbing his bandaged hand. Rodney felt savagely pleased about that.

He inhaled deeply, planted his feet and crossed his arms. “Let me get this straight. Our military commander, Lt. Colonel John Sheppard, has been turned, once again, into something not human. I am his medical proxy in the event that he is unable to communicate his wishes. In fact, he gave me quite detailed instructions in the event that something this horrifying ever happened to him again. You knew that.”

“Rodney, I – “

“Pick one. Pick whether you treat him like an animal or treat him like your friend who cannot communicate his wishes clearly.”

“Rodney,” Carson’s brogue got thicker.

“You tried to shave his neck. To take blood, didn’t you?”

“That’s standard procedure,” Dr. Vasha said.

“Yes, thank you, never would have known that, as a long-time cat owner. You could have -not that you needed to - taken it from his forearm, and not go for his neck with clippers and a needle.”

"But it's less..."

"Trouble for you yes, I know. Good call."

“I gave them the go-ahead Rodney,” Elizabeth said quietly.

“You had no right.”

Elizabeth lifted her chin stubbornly. "I'm his friend, too."

"Obviously not the type that follows his legally-filed wishes."

She looked down at the floor, obviously stung.

“Well, now," Rodney clapped his hands. "Thank you for playing 'Scare the Cat'. Now beat it.”

“Rodney!” Carson said, shocked.

“I believe everyone was doing what they thought best,” Teyla said quietly behind him.

“Well, fat lot of help that was!” Rodney spat. “Obviously, he’s angry and scared. You tried to shave his neck? Where his Iratus scar is? I’m sure your little buzzing clipper’s going to feel great against his scar tissue! Not to mention holding him still and using sharp objects on him where he can't see. Can't think of why he wasn't all for that. And you tried to shave his hair. His hair? That hair is his offspring or something.”

From across the room, John let out an indignant squawk.

“Oh, please, it's practically sentient,” Rodney squawked back. “I don’t think that in any form, John Sheppard would sanction messing with The Hair. So tell me, did all of you wake up brainless this morning, because honestly, I can’t think of another reason to make such a boneheaded call!”

“We need to know how much of him is still in there!” Elizabeth said angrily.

“And his blood is going to tell us that, how?” Rodney held up a finger to forestall any arguments. “Also? Had you been paying attention, Colonel Sheppard seems to be following the conversation, so my gracious, how about talking to him? But, tests. Can we get the information on his DNA in another way, yes, yes we can. Epithelial cells. Give me a Q-tip, get out of here, and maybe I can get him to come out. If I can talk him into giving me a sample, fine, I’ll leave it on the end of the gurney. Otherwise, I’m taking him out of here so he can calm down. Okay? Now shoo.”

“As loath as I am to be kicked out of my own infirmary, I certainly don’t have his trust at the moment.” He gave Rodney a resigned look. “My apologies, Rodney. I should have called you.

“Apologizing to me is so not the point.”

“Yes, well. Could you bring him tomorrow so we can test his mental faculties?”

“I plan on doing some of that tonight, so I will ask him then.”

Carson nodded, and taking Dr. Vasha by the arm, walked out.

Rodney turned to Teyla and Ronon. “What happened?” he said plaintively. “You guys knew about the proxy! God, I miss one mission and you forget about me?”

“That is not it at all, Rodney,” Teyla said, brushing a leaf off her cheek. “I am sorry. It was very…John was very upset, I think because of his previous experience with the Iratus. He had not had time to process his new situation and was startled by a loud noise. He was frightened and ran.”

“Lots of noise and yelling,” Ronon added. “And, we might have treated him like he was a cat, I think. It got pretty wild.”

Rodney rubbed his brows with one hand. “So, you had to run him down and catch him? How did you get him back here?”

“Yes,” Teyla said guiltily. “We had to borrow a sturdy basket, so that we could transport him back to Atlantis. He would not let us hold him.”

“Did either of you ever have any pets?” Teyla and Ronon looked stricken. “Never mind, we can talk about it later. I’m going to go – “ he pointed a thumb behind him.

“Rodney, please know we were so anxious to retrieve him because we feared he would run into the deep woods,” Teyla said.

“Predators,” Ronon clarified. Rodney shuddered and covered his eyes with both hands, trying not to imagine it.

Teyla put her hand on his shoulder. “Let us know what happens?” Teyla asked in parting.

“If there’s anything we can do,” Ronon added.

Rodney heaved a sigh. “As soon as I know what that is,” he agreed. When he turned around Elizabeth was standing behind him.

“If you don’t mind, Elizabeth? I’m going to go check on my traumatized best friend.”

“Rodney –“

“Elizabeth, most of the time I have the utmost respect for you, I really do, but sometimes you have a slightly terrifying ends justifying the means streak that scares me about as much as Sheppard's hero complex. Not to mention the odd individual's rights violation. I just want to see him, okay? If I can. And I don’t think he’ll come out unless he thinks it’s safe.”

She looked at him for a long time, pain,guilt and determination on her face. “If he is in there, Rodney, the Gata said he could be like this for a month.”

“Oh,” Rodney said lightly, “Well, at least it’s not permanent. Energy beam? Wacky Ancient toy? Witchcraft?”

Elizabeth gave him a grimacing smile. “Spirit animal ceremony, with possible Ancient device component. John’s ATA gene evidently maximizes the effect. Teyla and Ronon got as much information as they could, and we’ll be sending a team in the morning, which I will be joining.” She, too, touched him on the shoulder.

Once he was alone, Rodney pulled the curtain and rolled his shoulders a few times. He shook out his hands and fingers and cautiously walked toward Sheppard’s last known location.

“Sheppard? It’s me.”

“Aowr,” said a tiny, sad voice.

Rodney knelt on the floor about five feet from the equipment John was hiding in or under and peeked into a storage compartment with a sliding door. He could just make out a furry face peering back at him.

“Hey, there,” he said softly. “Good spot.”

“Meeeer!” John said.

“Don’t yell at me, I got here as soon as they called me.” Rodney knelt on the floor, well away from the machine. John continued to peer at him.

“What did you do to Teyla and Ronon?” he asked conspiratorially. “They look like they’ve been though a tiny wood chipper.”

“Mow. Mow ow.” John complained.

“I'm sure they deserved it at the time. Jesus, Sheppard. You turn into the one animal I know something about and I wasn’t there,” Rodney berated himself.

John looked at him miserably and sighed.

“Listen,” Rodney said, keeping his voice soft. “I’m going to get something to read and maybe some water for you. We'll just sit here until you feel like coming out.” He got up and walked out of the alcove. Carson was hovering just outside.

“Carson, this isn’t going to work if he can still smell you nearby.”

Carson wrung his hands. “I’m afraid we didn’t keep our heads very well, earlier.”

“Oh, really?” Rodney asked, full of heavy sarcasm. “And I realize how ironic this is coming from me, you can’t just bulldoze over people, or cats who were people. And you shouldn’t let Elizabeth push you around like that. Now, may I have some water for John? Got anything that needs fixing?”

“What?”

“Something I can focus on, tinker with. Or, or, a magazine or, oooh, laptop. Something so I’m not just staring at him, waiting.”

“He’s not come out then?”

“No, he’s not come out, Carson! From the way he was yowling earlier, I’d say we’ve got some time to kill.”

Carson shot him a look that was both contrite and irritated, but stomped off.

While Carson was gone, Rodney thought ahead a little. Teyla and Ronon were probably not done with scraping the mud off themselves. He touched his radio and called Radek.

“I have a favor to ask,” he said, coming right to the point.

“How is...is everyone all right?”

“Colonel Sheppard is a cat, if you could describe that as all right. He doesn’t seem to think so. Teyla and Ronon have hit the showers and I don’t know how long it’s going to take to coax him out of where they’ve terrified him into hiding.”

Zelenka swore in Czech, then said, “Poor bastard. He is what, a housecat? Is he aware of what is going on?”

“Yes and yes, I think so. So, hopefully, Carson’s letting me use a laptop. I’m going to send you a list of things I think Sheppard will need and send Teyla and Ronon to you for scavenger duty. Could you drop my laptop by my room when you have a chance?”

“Not a problem, Rodney. I take it that this is not for general consumption yet.”

“No. I’m sure Elizabeth is thinking up some way to say, ‘The Colonel is a kitty cat.’ Ronon and Teyla have information about what happened and seem to think that there is an Ancient component to his transformation. Word is, he’s going to be like this for awhile.”

“I am on it, Rodney,” Radek said kindly. “Give my best to Colonel Sheppard.”

Rodney swallowed hard and said tightly, “Yes. McKay out.”

He breathed deeply several times and keyed his radio again. “Elizabeth?”

“Rodney, how is John?”

“Still in the cabinet. Not to step on your toes, but you’ve informed Major Lorne?”

“Yes.”

“Good, good. I can tell Sheppard not to worry about that. I’ve drafted Radek to help me get a few things together for him and am about to ask Teyla and Ronon to brief him on the situation, with your permission? I don’t know how long I’m going to be with John, and I’d like to get started on making that month shorter. Maybe there’s something in the database that could help you tomorrow.”

“Of course.”

“Thank you. Mc-“

“Rodney?” Elizabeth broke in, her voice hesitant. “I was thinking. John likes turkey.”

Rodney closed his eyes. “Yes, he does.”

“I’ll tell the mess to provide you with whatever you need.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Rodney,” she said, warmth creeping into her voice. “Weir out.”

He stood there for a few moments, struggling with the whole awful mess. He sniffed, wiped his eyes and hollered, “Carson? Are you making me a computer?”

~~~

Carson supplied – finally - a laptop, mouth swabs, some water and a cup of coffee for Rodney. Rodney set the beaker of water about two feet from John’s position, then pulled the pillow off the gurney and settled in. First thing he did was send an email off to Radek. Then he called Teyla and Ronon and set them in motion.

He glanced over at the cabinet in his peripheral vision. He could just see one black paw dangling over the edge of John’s hiding space.

“Okay,” Rodney addressed his computer. “Lorne has temporarily assumed command, so we won't have to worry about that until Caldwell shows up to posture in three weeks. I’ve got Radek working on the databases and in case you didn’t hear Elizabeth, she’s going to visit the Gata tomorrow to find out a little more about the spirit animal ceremony.” He paused. “Spirit animal? Really?”

“Marowh,” John said huffily. His tail thumped against the metal floor of his cave. Rodney looked up. John was sprawled in the doorway of the storage space, half-visible.

“I’m just saying.”

John sighed and put his head on his paws.

“Oh, and if we’re lucky, there will be turkey for dinner.”

John met his eyes speculatively.

Rodney continued to play solitaire (about the only thing he had the concentration for right now) and listened to John make small, uncomfortable, grumbling noises as his tail thumped rhythmically. He licked his paw several times and sighed again.

Rodney stretched out on his stomach and wiggled into a comfortable position. He just happened to turn so he wasn’t watching John.

Two games later, something brushed his shoulder. He turned his head and looked into familiarly-colored eyes.

“Hey.”

“Mow,” John said forlornly, his head drooping as he looked up at Rodney.

“So, your day sucked, hm?”

John huddled along his side. Rodney could feel John’s tail curl over his back.

Rodney played his card game idly, blinking rapidly as John carefully sniffed his shoulder, his ear, his fingers, the computer and then wandered off to drink some water from the cup. He drank deeply and Rodney congratulated himself on the good call.

He was a beautiful cat, despite a few small patches of dried mud that had not come off during the infirmary melee. All black, what a surprise, long lines and slinky, also what a surprise and his eyes were an uncatlike greenish hazel. Rodney shook his head at his weird, weird life and stared blindly at the computer screen.

John sprawled on the floor next to him, leaning against his forearm. He looked up at Rodney, his muzzle dewed with tiny drops of water.

“Mow?” he asked and licked his lips lazily.

Rodney grinned, his eyes stinging, trying not to hope for too much. “I want you to meow once for prime and twice for not prime. 1277.”

“Mow.”

“3324”

“Mow oww,” John shifted his paws and tried again. “Mow,” he had to stop and swallow. “Mow.” He sighed.

“No, you’re doing great.”

“48131”

“Mow,” John replied immediately.

“67289.”

“Mow.”

“431”

“Mow!” John stood up.

“61.”

“Mow.” John whined, butting Rodney’s shoulder with his head.

“104678.”

“Mow. Mow.” His whiskers were practically vibrating with excitement.

“Sheppard?” Rodney’s voice cracked horribly. He looked at his hands a long moment, breathing deeply.

Purring, John butted him in the shoulder again. "Maarp?"

Rodney looked over to find Sheppard looking earnestly into his face. “You’re a cat. I find that a little upsetting! But evidently you have a nice chunk of higher brain function intact, thank goodness. That’s my initial hypothesis.”

John looked at him flatly and his ears twitched.

“Well, it’s not like we can discuss it! I’m trying to get my head around this! Do you realize – and I think they are fabulous animals and much smarter than people give them credit for - how much smaller a cat’s brain capacity is than a human’s?”

Primly, John sat and twitched one ear at him. It stayed twitched.

Rodney scrubbed at his face. “I’m not that worried, because, you know, neurology voodoo. But. We’ve got to get a cell sample for Carson.”

“Maaaarrrowr,” John growled ominously, both ears back.

“No, listen, it’s just the swab thing. Two seconds. “

John slitted his eyes and stayed motionless, except for the very tip of his tail.

“I’ll just get it.” He got up, patted his pockets and wandered over to the gurney, wondering where he put it. John hopped on the table a second later.

“Oh, that’s got to be cool.”

John twitched his ears again. “Maaaaaa,” he ventured casually. Rodney snorted.

They got the cell sample with a minimum of fuss, though John made all sorts of smacking noises like it tasted bad. He also allowed Rodney to dust most of the mud off his fur, leaning tentatively into his hands while the tip of his tail twitched like he couldn’t decide whether he should like it or not.

“Maybe we can get a brush or something for the rest of that or a shower if that doesn’t bother you. You ready? My quarters once, your quarters twice.”

John shifted his paws nervously, kneading the gurney. “Mow?”

“It’s no problem. I mean, I can be either place if you want help.”

John paced back and forth across the gurney for a few turns, then looked up at Rodney. “Mow. Mow."

“Your place it is.” He keyed his radio. “Radek?”

“Yes, Rodney.”

“We will be dining tonight at Chez Sheppard.”

“Understood. Are you leaving infirmary now?”

“Yes, I think so.”

“Everything is in place but food. I will have tray made up for you as well.”

“Excellent.” He paused, awkwardly. “Radek?”

“Is no problem. You owe me big for inventing Pegasus kitty litter. Zelenka out.”

Rodney looked down at John and cleared his throat. “Ride or walk? Before you answer, I’m going to remind you what big feet your marines have. And that everyone from your perspective is Godzilla-sized.”

John walked stiffly over to Rodney. He sat in front of him, his tail curled tightly around his body, radiating embarrassment.

“No, wait, see, I think you’ll like this.” He squatted down until his shoulders were on a level with the gurney. “Climb up.” He curled one hand around John’s back to brace him, and steeled himself. “You’re going to have to use your claws a little, but go on.”

John carefully put his paws on Rodney’s shoulder and wound around the back of his neck. Rodney bent head forward to let him get situated, then stood, one hand still on John’s hindquarters.

John’s purr was a rumbling, rusty thing and soft fur brushed Rodney’s cheek. He turned his head carefully to look at John out of the corner of his eye. John snuffled at his temple and cheek, his whiskers tickling.

“Ready?”

He touched Rodney's face with a soft paw, leaned into him and resumed purring.

Rodney reached his free hand around to stroke John’s neck, his heart suddenly, painfully, full. “You’re welcome.”

~~~~


	3. The Wrathful Gaze of Johnny Cash

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Dialog in italics is translated cat. John knows what he is saying, but Rodney's using his best guess/past cat experience/knowledge of John.

Sheppard was trembling and hanging on to Rodney’s jacket (and Rodney’s shoulders) for dear life. They had tried to take the least populated route from the infirmary, but had still seen plenty of people, all of whom, it seemed, wanted to exclaim over Rodney's new acquisition.

John felt kinda bad about the claw marks he was drilling into Rodney shoulder, but he couldn’t help it. He missed his thumbs.

Worst of all, the people they ran into wanted to touch him, and after a day of being grabbed and man-handled it was about all he could do not to scratch and bite and take a flying leap off of Rodney’s shoulders and just run. Not a plan that had really worked for him today.

 _“No,”_ John said as clearly as he could when the enormous, meaty hand of Sgt. Johnson reached out to thump him on the head. The guy had mitts the size of dinner plates. Of course, it came out as an embarrassing, tiny, pained mew, but Rodney - thank god for Rodney - seemed to get it.

He blustered past every interested party, claiming, "Sorry, can’t stop. Mind the claws; he’s kind of cranky right now.” John totally backed him up with throaty, threatening noises and laid his head on Rodney’s shoulder, ears flat, glaring at anyone who dared to coo at him.

No wonder cats got so snooty. People were _idiots._ Idiots who had no idea of personal space.

They got trapped by a brace of botanists over near the turn to John’s quarters, just as they were starting to feel home free, and before he knew it, the hair on the back of his…back had stood up and he was making a noise that was freaking _him_ out.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” the stupid, handsy, oh-my god-what-is-that- _smell_ woman had fretted.

“Yes, you should be, can you only read tea leaves and not body language? Thank you and excuse us,” Rodney sniped, edging past them. John kept his eyes on them just in case Miss Hands lunged at him again.

 _“Jesus,”_ he said, as soon as they got away.

“I know. Philistines. ” Rodney replied, genuinely contrite. He reached up and rubbed the back of John’s neck soothingly a couple of times, then jerked his hand away. “Sorry, that’s probably the last thing you want right now.”

John rubbed his head against Rodney’s and purred quietly. He didn’t mind it if Rodney touched him. At all. He had not done one single thing so far to freak him out. John was so grateful, so goddamn _relieved_ about that he nearly ached with it.

Rodney’s hand stole back up, cupping John’s shoulder, his fingers firm and comforting on the back of his neck. John sniffed his hand a few times, smelling Rodney and coffee and plastic and something that smelled like worry. It was kind of tickly and sharp. He had another one of those weird moments where he needed to lick Rodney. It was really strong, as was the need to rub his cheek against Rodney’s hand and scent mark him.

The cat instinct thing wasn’t as completely unsettling as he would have expected. It wasn’t like the Iratus bug when he could feel himself slowly becoming alien and cold.

This was totally different; the world felt normal – if huge – but richer in a lot of ways. And bluer, which was weird. He’d never known cats were red/green color-blind, and wouldn’t have known yet if Elizabeth hadn’t come in wearing a muddy brown uniform shirt.

His eyes were sharper for distance and not so great when lights were very bright unless he was close, which was one of the reasons the infirmary had been so awful. It took the better part of his time in the storage compartment to get used to how he was seeing the world. He was having to get used to a lot of things.

He always liked to explore, make sure of his environment, and when his nose had gotten in on the act along with his eyes, man, that was cool and mostly made up for the change in his vision. It made sense, but it was still a little surprising that from the very beginning it had been involuntary. If he could see it, he smelled it; just that simple and just that unconscious.

But the scent marking thing (and the licking thing) was a matter of choice, so he held off, not sure what Rodney would think. He didn’t want to take advantage of the situation.

He was totally aware of how silly that was, given he was like, one-sixth Rodney’s size. But he was a cat and Rodney liked cats, loved cats, and it wouldn’t be fair to snuggle up to him and _mark_ him, for chrissakes, just because he had plausible deniability. He didn’t have a very good reign on his feelings or temper and he was going to have to watch it.

“Home at last,” Rodney said cheerfully and turned his head to look at John out of the corner of his eye. “Can you open it?”

John concentrated on the door and it slid open for him like any other day. Hell. Yes.

“Well,” Rodney said happily, scratching behind John’s left ear. “That’s something!”

The minute they walked into his quarters, John knew it had been a bad idea to come here. Everything was so _huge_. He squeezed his eyes shut and turned his head, propping it on Rodney’s hand to blot out the sight.

 _“Crap,”_ he moaned.

“Sheppard?”

John stayed huddled on Rodney’s shoulders as he carefully lowered himself to sit on the bed.

“Hey,” Rodney said softly, “want to hop down? Kind of hard to talk to you like that.”

 _“Okay,”_ John replied miserably.

Rodney tipped his shoulders helpfully downward and John leapt a couple of inches down. He curled up, his paws underneath his chest and just looked at the immediate area. He glanced up at his poster and quickly looked away. Wow. His pillow seemed more the right size for a bed, and the part of the bed he could see seemed like two or three king size beds all put together. Actually, that was kind of nice; for once he’d feel like he could really stretch out.

Rodney ran one finger down his back. “What’s up?”

John looked up at him and wondered how he could possibly explain this. Rodney’s face was so far away, so far up there and John’s heart just sank.

He groaned. Just a long, drawn out, heartfelt feeling-really-sorry-for-himself whine. He’d been trying not to run and hide ever since they left the infirmary and this was the last straw. He was officially overwhelmed.

Getting up, he crept over to his pillow and burrowed beneath it. That wasn’t enough cover, so he turned around and nudged his head under the sheets and blanket, creeping forward until he was in a nice, cloth-lined cave. He tucked his feet underneath himself and rested his chin on the mattress.

“That bad?”

 _Yeah,”_ John sighed.

“I don’t blame you. Listen, I’m going take a look at the stuff Radek put together.” Rodney stroked his hand down John’s cloth-covered back. He couldn’t feel it properly, but it still was nice.

John settled in for a therapeutic brood and listened to the noises of Rodney puttering around his quarters and talking quietly on his radio. After a little while, the familiar noises and smells and the sheer stress of the day crept up on him and he fell asleep.

He woke up when he registered the door opening and Rodney talking low-voiced to Radek. Also, he smelled turkey, just like Rodney promised. Boy, he had the thank you of the century after all this was over. It looked like Rodney was just dropping everything to help him out, and then there was the way he’d torn into everyone’s hide back in the infirmary. He’d never been so happy to see anyone in his life when Rodney had barreled into the room and took over.

“Hey, Lumpy,” Rodney said, stroking his back again through the covers. “Dinner’s here if you want it. Just-roasted turkey. You sleeping?”

 _“Nope.”_

“I’ll take that as a ‘no,’” Rodney said, a thread of humor in his voice. “I’m starving, so I’m going to start on mine.”

John leaned against Rodney’s hand a little, slightly reluctant for him to go.

“You know,” his voice was soft and kinder than John had ever heard, “it’s okay with me, but I hear this whole patting thing works better if I actually touch your fur.”

 _“Shut up,”_ John replied, rolling to his side to supply Rodney with a greater area. The hell with plausible deniability; this felt great.

“Hungry now,” Rodney decreed, finding John’s head and scruffling his ears kind of wrong. John batted him away.

“Well, it’s not like I can see if I’m doing it right,” Rodney huffed.

He was totally laughing at John. Jerk.

Rodney went away and there were lots of nice smelling things over on the other side of the room, it seemed like. John thought about going out there. It was still going to be gigantic. He curled up in a ball, grumbling a little.

“The turkey’s really very good,” Rodney said, smacking his lips. "Moist." Oh god, Rodney’s terrible table manners, six times too big. Yuck.

“I can’t believe they made dressing, too. Technically you probably shouldn’t have that, but I guess since they use grain products in dry cat food…” He made more smacking noises.

 _God,_ he was such a jerk, using a man’s turkey love against him. And he would eat it all, too, if John didn’t step on it.

John slithered out from under the covers and crouched by his nightstand. Rodney was sitting at his desk (his _enormous_ desk) making happy food noises at his dinner. John only had to cross, like, a football field, to join him.

He looked guardedly around the room again, exploring to see if it felt any less freaky. It didn’t. Not one bit less freaky. This. No. He had to -

Jumping off the bed, he went to stand next to the door. _“Out!”_ he yelled at Rodney. _“Come on?”_

“Mmm? Sheppard?”

John opened the door and stood in it, willing Rodney to please come with him. Rodney’s eyes popped open wide.

“Oh, that’s bad. That’s very bad. Please don’t go running all over the city. I’ve been thinking maybe a collar GPS thing, but oh, please don’t do that.”

 _“Now!”_ How much more simple could he make it? Jeez. He turned and headed down the hall to McKay’s quarters.

“Shit,” he heard Rodney say behind him as he scrambled for the door.

Jogging down the hallway felt great until he heard footsteps coming from in front of him. He wheeled around and ran full-tilt back to Rodney and jumped straight for his chest, hoping that he’d have the presence to catch him. This was going to be really awkward if he just hit Rodney and slid down his chest. Maybe he should -

“Ow, _claws!!_ ” Rodney yelled, surprised, but his hands were steady and sure around his ribs. John’s legs were left dangling uncomfortably and he tried to scramble with sheathed back paws against Rodney’s stomach and wiggled far enough that he could get his front paws hooked over his shoulder and by that time, Rodney was pressing him _against_ that shoulder, redistributing his weight so he could get a hand underneath John to support him and John relaxed, resting his head against Rodney and _Jesus_ that had been a bad idea.

“What the hell was that?” Rodney whisper-yelled at him, his voice cracking in two places. “What?”

John turned to him with his best puppy-dog apologetic look, because oops, _claws_ and said very softly, _“Sorry?”_

“Oh, don’t you even _try_ that look on me when you’re an actual animal.” Rodney fussed, stroking his back with nervous firmness. “You’re like a cartoon of the Little Match Girl or something and yes, I’m mixing my metaphors but seriously, John, what the _hell?_

John? Well, _that_ was a very interesting time to choose to call him by his first name. He purred and head-butted Rodney’s chin.

“Okay, did you just go from scared out of your tiny little mind to ridiculously happy? Are you having mood swings? Do I need to take you to, god forbid, Carson?”

Way to ruin a moment, McKay.

“ _No_ ” John said sullenly.

“Now, let me get this straight before dinner becomes entirely inedible. You don’t want to be in your room.”

 _“No.”_ He used the “two meows for no,” method, laboriously swallowing between words.

“You were heading west, toward…my quarters?”

 _“Yes,”_ he added a head-butt of approval for that.

“Thank you for praising the human.” Rodney replied half-snippily, his fingers finding that perfect spot behind his ears again. John hitched himself more comfortably against Rodney’s shoulder and braced a paw around his neck.

“I don’t suppose we could go back for the food?”

John growled.

“Right. I’ll come back for it.” He started trudging toward his quarters. John looked around, listening for the person he’d heard walking toward them. Nothing. He’d freaked over someone heading to their room. Great.

“Why don’t you want to be in your quarters?” Rodney wondered aloud, absently scratching John’s neck. “Hmm? What’s wrong with it?”

 _“Big,”_ John replied. _“It’s just wrong.”_ Wow, he could say that in all one meow if he just changed the pitch. Cool.

“Yes, thank you, I know I shouldn’t ask open ended questions. Hmmm. Also? Where is everyone? We were getting mobbed earlier.”

 _“Dinner,”_ John offered.

“Sorry, Sheppard, didn’t get that.”

 _“Dinner,”_ John said slowly and touched a paw to Rodney’s mouth.

His answering smile was brilliant. “What?”

John grumbled, turned his head and sniffed Rodney’s fingers. Turkey. He licked them delicately, then turned and touched his paw to Rodney’s mouth. _“Dinner.”_ He licked his lips and smacked a few times for emphasis.

Rodney hugged him lightly and babbled, “Okay, I’m going to try not to do this very often, but, oh my god, you are the cutest, cat, ever. I mean, you’re very you, but fuzzy and I’m so sorry, but wow. Cat Charades.”

 _“Hey!”_ He gave Rodney a completely deserved swat on the nose. No claws, but a warning.

“I know, I know, totally deserved. My boorish behavior crosses species boundaries with ease. Anyway. Let me guess. You said, ‘eating.’ Everyone’s eating.”

John sighed internally. Close enough. _“Kinda,”_ he said and bumped Rodney’s chin with his head.

“You know?” Rodney mused as they breezed through his door, “And I realize that I’m speaking as the one who is not a cat, but this isn’t going to be so bad. I mean, you’ve always sort of squeaked and grunted and I’ve gotten it, mostly.”

John launched himself off Rodney’s shoulder onto the bed and turned to glare up at him.

“You seem to be rolling with the situation really well, and I know you totally hid under the covers when you were in your quarters, but my god, who wouldn’t with Johnny Cash staring down at them like the Wrath of God?”

He wasn’t wrong. Johnny Cash was fucking HUGE, and he hadn’t even been fully regular-people sized. What had he been _thinking?_ He padded around Rodney’s several-acre bed, getting the lay of the land. Nice bed. He sniffed a sweet-smelling corner of Rodney’s blanket. Chocolate, what a surprise.

Yeah, this was better. Rodney’s place was still way out of proportion to what he was used to but John wasn’t looking at things that were _his_ that were all wrong and strange. Much better. He hopped off the bed and explored underneath it, finding a couple of socks and some powerbar wrappers.

And Rodney would probably be happier here with all of his laptops and stuff. Also, face it, he was kind of messy and that would drive John absolutely crazy if someone was messing up his stuff. He really missed his thumbs.

“Sheppard? I’m going to go get the food now, okay? Just make yourself at home.”

John looked out from underneath the bed. _“Okay.”_

Rodney grinned that “OMG, so _cute_ ” grin again and John made his “don’t fuck with me,” noises right back, which made him grin even _harder_.

John was totally putting a paw in his dressing for that.

“You are going to get me for calling you cute, aren’t you?”

He glowered and twitched his ears ominously at Rodney while he headed out the door.

Actually, he kind of liked making Rodney smile like that. He licked his paw nervously. He was in _way_ over his furry little head.


	4. First Night

The mess sent way more turkey and dressing than one cat could eat, so Rodney helpfully finished most of it before realizing John might want some more later. There was hardly enough for a snack – at least for Rodney – but um, well. He left the rest.

He looked up to find Sheppard laughing at him. Oh, he didn’t say a word, but Rodney had been around him long enough to know that particular sparkle in his eyes. He blushed.

“Um, sorry? Force of habit? I forgot cats like to graze.”

“Mow,” he replied graciously, flicking one ear in a shrug-like gesture.

“Right. I’ll just…” he got up to clear away the dinner things, except for John’s snack dish and shallow bowl of water, which were perched on the far edge of his desk.

“I’m going to leave these here for tonight, until we can figure out a better place for them,” Rodney mused aloud. “Somewhere I won’t kick them over in the middle of the night or something. Do you like that, or do you want me to put them on the floor?”

“Maa.” John walked over to the bowl and sat next to it, curling his tail around his feet.

“Right,” he couldn’t seem to stop saying that. He stumped over to the bathroom to get a hold of himself. He splashed some water on his face, washed his hands and stood braced against the sink for a long moment.

John was a cat. But also John. Rodney was 99.9% sure that was all of John in there, with the extra twist of cat biochemistry and instinct along for the ride. Who knew which would win out in normal interaction? He’d certainly had an unexpected reaction to his own quarters, which Rodney understood. It was about proportion and your world turning upside down. Who would want all those reminders that you were one-sixth your normal size?

And he trusted Rodney to help him through this and make the right decisions for him. Really trusted him. That had been something of a shock, to have Sheppard put himself so utterly, literally, into his hands. There had been moments in the field, sure, or in a crisis, where he’d done the same thing – trusted Rodney’s skills to get them out of a jam – but this was different.

He had been humbled and honored when Sheppard had asked him to be his proxy. Rodney, getting a head rush from the simultaneous hit of fear and pride, immediately asked John right back and made a note to put together a packet on his own medical history. He asked John for his. John looked at him for a long moment, thoughtfully savoring a slice of orange fruit that smelled like melons.

“I had chicken pox when I was seven,” he finally said. “Broken some bones?”

“And?”

“A camel bit me?”

Rodney had put his hand over his mouth and looked at him in horror, honestly trying not to ruin the moment by yelling at him. “You, uh, forgot your Iratus bug, um, encounters?”

“Well, yeah, _those._ ” Sheppard squirmed a little and said, “I try to kind of brush all this stuff off…you know…”

“Rub some dirt on it and keep going?”

John pointed at him. “Exactly.”

Self-preservation instincts of a lemming. Or no; a moth. Liked sparkly, glowing things so much he dove right into them, but still with the heroic jumping off cliff for the good of all. Yeah. He’d befriended a selfless lemming moth.

“Rodney?” Sheppard asked, looking a little sheepish.

Rodney heroically strangled down several rants and said reasonably “How about we set up a meeting with Carson after we get the papers drawn up and signed? See if there’s anything I should know, like, uh, allergy to any medications. Or how many times you’ve been knocked on the head, so we know how many more you have before you sustain significant brain damage.” He could feel himself smile sickly; maybe he could get Sheppard to wear a helmet. And then it struck him; maybe the weird hair was _padding_.

John was looking blankly into middle distance, narrowing his eyes. “There was a thing with a rash and an antibiotic,” he said slowly, then ducked his head and poked at his melon.

“Thanks, Rodney,” he said quietly. Rodney couldn’t quite tell, but he thought Sheppard might be blushing.

Rodney echoed John’s earlier pointing finger. “Just stop with the insect collecting. No fair going looking for them now that you’ve got me.”

John had rolled his eyes in grieved but grinning resignation. “Oh, _man._ What have I done?”

Even knowing he was John’s proxy hadn’t prepared him for the reality – he totally knew it could be an emotionally taxing experience, he knew that, and could handle that – but this, he felt – he didn’t know how he felt, but it was great deal more intense than he expected.

It wasn’t that he resented the dependence or the imposition on his time, not at all, it was more that Rodney was terrified he was going to screw this up; not take care of John like he needed, make decisions based on what he wanted versus what was best for John, thereby alienating him forever.

But to see prickly-when-you-cornered-him-especially-about-personal-issues John Sheppard walk out, lean against him and look at him with such trust and confidence and more than a hint of sheepishness, all while in an entirely different body just about stopped his heart.

John asked him to do this; chose him. He could do it, but Rodney knew that he was very glad that John was conscious and sentient. It was clear they could downgrade the emergency from Invasive Alien Consciousness to something closer to their normal give and take, just with a language barrier.

Although, about the sheepishness; Rodney would totally call John on the - once again - _not_ asking some voodoo shaman about the fine print before doing a ritual with an _Ancient object_ , but even he could see that there was a point past which some things could reasonably be said without injury.

This did not, however, exclude Rodney from bringing it up in the future, should someone in a headdress inquire if John would like to join a primitive Men’s Group. In fact, the more the guy smelled like moldy bear grease and old fur, the more boilerplate Rodney would insist upon and not even Teyla wincing, the glint in her eyes promising very, very bad training sessions later was going to make him back down.

Yeah. He could do this. He looked himself firmly in the eye and went back out.

~~~

For a moment, when he stepped out of the bathroom, Rodney couldn’t see Sheppard anywhere and nearly panicked. Not that the Colonel couldn’t handle himself; it was just that he was so _small_.

“Sheppard?” he called, walking briskly to the door. “Shepp-“

“Mow?” The reply came from over by the balcony door.

“Oh,” Rodney said, turning quickly, “Uh, didn’t see you over there in the shadows.”

“Meeeer.” John walked slowly toward him, looking a little guilty.

“Don’t worry about it.” Rodney waved a reassuring hand, then popped it in his pocket when he noticed the shaking. “Just a little jumpy I guess.”

“Mow,” John’s reply was quiet and scared-sounding.

Rodney shook himself mentally. “Hey,” he said softly. “How about we get the rest of that mud off you? That sounds good, right?”

“Mow.”

John had slithered and slid through wet ground on Gata and had come back with a fair soil sampling still attached to his fur. Rodney had brushed most of the dried stuff off him in the infirmary, but he still was pretty scruffy.

“Right. Um. There’s the wet method or the dry method. You’d probably prefer the wet method since you’re used to it. I, uh, have some really gentle shampoo?“

Sheppard trotted to Rodney’s bathroom, turned on the shower with his gene and stood looking up at the spray. He stared up at it, turned to Rodney, wide eyed, then bolted for the other room, obviously forgetting he could turn it off himself.

“Dry, then.” Rodney said to the empty room. He turned the water off and decided not to mention the sink.

John was crouched stubbornly under Rodney’s desk, looking ready for a fight. Rodney sat down on the end of his bed and smiled at him. He shrugged.

“Now that I think of it, I’ve never met a cat that liked getting a bath…but on the other hand…” He slapped his hands on his thighs, noting Sheppard’s wince (he’d have to watch the loud noises for awhile) and said “Wait here.”

An uncertain, slightly wavering meow followed him as he hustled back to the bathroom.

Rodney came back with two large bath towels, a comb, a damp washcloth and a hand towel, and set up an impromptu grooming station.

“Okay, the first part, is actually the most fun, at least for me, and Schrodinger loved it.”

“Moooo _oow?_ ” John drawled, twitching one ear. He padded slightly closer to the bed.

“Yes, yes, McKay gives funny names to his cat. I bet if given the chance you’d have a black lab named ‘Folsom,’ or ‘Cash.’ am I right?”

Sheppard looked faintly embarrassed. “Maaa,” he replied, hopping onto the bed. He sat looking at Rodney very seriously, before breaking and licking a paw nervously.

“Don’t want to talk about it, huh? Typical. Okay. You need to stand on all fours, and I’m going to take my hands like this,” He held them out, fingers curved and stiff in a claw-like gesture, “And I’m going to sort of curry-comb your back and sides. It’s fast and gets tons of dead hair out. And like I said, kind of fun.”

“Meerrrow?” John asked, puzzled. Rodney frowned, not quite getting it.

“Help me out here, Sheppard, I’m not sure what you’re asking.

John twitched his ears, kind of shrugging, and stood. “Mow.”

“You ready?”

“Mow.” He looked so serious and resigned.

“Okay.” Rodney leaned over and started quickly combing through John’s fur, lightly digging his fingers in and roughly brushing away the bits of mud and dead hair. John shrank back a few steps and sat back down, staring fixedly at the towel.

“Too rough?” Rodney asked quietly.

“Aaa,” John said, his voice very high pitched and soft. It made Rodney’s chest hurt.

Sheppard walked back into place and Rodney reached out to stroke his ears. John leaned briefly into his hand and away, then mewed, high and soft again, sounding scared.

Suddenly, Rodney felt very stupid. Not only was Sheppard perhaps one of the most irritatingly self-contained and self-sufficient people he’d ever met, he also _didn’t like being touched_. Crap. He’d been so wrapped up in how to do things for him, so focused on getting him clean, because he knew that Sheppard would hate being all scruffy, that he forgot to think about how he might be feeling about being so dependent and subject to other people’s grabby hands.

Not that he ever thought he’d be stuck in the grabby hand category with the rest of the city; it had taken both of them awhile, Rodney trying to be a little more conscious of Sheppard’s personal space and the Colonel gradually getting used to Rodney forgetting about it. Eventually, John stopped wincing or flinching when team members brushed his arm or put a hand on his shoulder. Eventually.

“Listen,” Rodney said. “I could get a towel and see if…”

John stood in position again and looked up at him, ears twitching. “Mow.”

“Are you sure?”

”Rooooooow.”

Rodney grinned. “You just whined my name didn’t you?”

He got a very flat look.

“Right.” He leaned over, stiffened his fingers, and started combing again. After about six passes, Sheppard would back away, pace around the bed a little, then come back. This happened four times and each time, Sheppard’s pacing diminished, so Rodney took that as a good sign.

Finally, he was running the flat of his hand down the Colonel’s sides and back, brushing away the last of the loose hairs. John leaned into the touch, then jerked back like he wasn’t supposed to do that. Rodney slowed his pace, making the sweeps longer, trying to be as soothing as possible.

Sheppard was relaxed, his eyes half-closed. Rodney braced his left hand against John’s shoulder and with the other, cupped his head gently, then ran his hand slowly down his side. John swayed into his hand.

“I’m going to sit and use the comb now. Why don’t you lie down?” He said in an almost whisper.

John crumpled gently to the bed, sitting on his paws.

Keeping one hand braced against John, since it seemed to kind of ground him, Rodney gently ran the finer-toothed end of his comb through his fur. He kept up a low murmur of words, telling Sheppard about his day and the experiment he and Zelenka had been running as he groomed him, so that when he asked John to shift it wouldn’t be surprising.

It made him wince and feel slightly, oh, furious, inside that John continued to try to pull away and assume a stoic face while he’d been _turned into a cat._ Twice, while Rodney was combing him, John had been compelled to stand up, walk away for a little while, then return almost guiltily and crouch, waiting for the comb.

“John,” Rodney asked softly. “Am I hurting you? Do you have bruises from earlier?”

“Maa,” John denied, not looking at him, his tail twitching faintly. Rodney thought he was probably lying.

“We could stop. There’s some mud on your stomach, but that could wait until tomorrow if you’re uncomfortable.”

John slowly stretched out on his side and touched Rodney’s hand with his paw.

“I’m going to check for bruises, just so we’re on the same page, here, okay?”

John touched his hand silently, and looked up at him, trusting but obviously still feeling nervous. Rodney swallowed thickly.

“If anywhere feels sore, you tap me with your claws, okay?”

John pressed Rodney’s hand, his claws extended.

“I’m going to use about the same pressure I’d use doing the finger-coming,” Rodney warned him, and slowly drew his fingers down Sheppard’s chest. As he expected, John was sore on both sides over his ribs, where someone (probably Ronon) had grabbed him.

“Is it bad enough you want to ice this? Or get something for pain?” he asked, quietly. “Jesus, Sheppard, you should have told me.”

“Maaaa,” John said earnestly, putting a paw on his hand. “Mrrrror, prrrt, prrrt.” He punctuated his statement by rolling over to his other side and back.

“So it’s not that bad, just stiff and sore?”

“Mow.”

“Where else?”

John inelegantly tried to point to his own hindquarters.

“Let me guess; more bruises from someone trying to grab you?”

“Mowr.”

“And they hurt when I ran the comb over them?” Great, right along his back where his fur was thickest and Rodney'd very carefully spent lots of time combing John so he could get used to the feeling. Just great.

“Mrrrr.” John didn’t look at him.

“I’m taking that as a yes!” Rodney stood and paced a couple of steps forward and back. “You don’t have to just _sit_ there if I’m doing something that hurts! Jesus, Sheppard! You’re covered in _fur!_ I can’t _see_ where you’re bruised! The last thing I want to do is hurt you. And for your information, grooming is supposed to be a pleasurable experience, not something that’s governed by the Geneva Convention, or PETA or those, those other people who get all upset about bunnies wearing makeup! I mean, I totally agree with them, I just forget what they’re called and oh my god you let me just sit there and comb your bruises over and over and let me hurt you! You can’t _do_ that!”

John looked at him guiltily. “Meeew?” he said in a very small voice. Rodney was not falling for the big eyed kitty thing right now, absolutely not.

“Look, Colonel – John - we have to make a deal here. You asked me to help care for you if you become…” he waved his hand at John’s general cattishness. “You know I’m bad on picking up on non-verbal things, and hello? _I’m not even sure which meows are the verbs._ ”

He looked pointedly at John. John looked stubborn and sulky. Fantastic.

“If you hide stuff from me, and I make a decision based on that, it’s only going to end up bad for both of us. I know it probably breaks all sorts of macho stoic rules, but you just _can’t_. You have to tell me if you’re hurt or cold or hot or thirsty or if you have to pee; hey, did you know, Radek made you some litter?”

John looked at him, startled and wide-eyed. Rodney waved him off.

“We can go over that later. The point is until we get this down, until I get what you’re like in this form – even if it’s just for today – you’ve got to tell me if I’m doing something wrong. Or doing something right, for that matter. Positive reinforcement is a very well established, ah, method of…

John flopped over on his side and arched - _shyly_ , something he was sure he was hallucinating - showing Rodney his dusty belly as he stuttered into a loud purr.

“Reinforcing things.” Rodney finished faintly, lump firmly lodged in this throat. Wow. He hadn’t really expected to win that one so fast. And wow, that was seriously adorable.

“You see?” He replied brightly – if slightly thickly - clasping his hands together. “A little teamwork, a little gratitude; that’s all I ask.”

Sheppard twitched his ears and thumped his tail, hard, a couple of times. Rodney felt pretty sure if he could have rolled his eyes, he would have. ”Rrowrrrr!”

He’d know that tone anywhere. “And now you’re bossy; my life is complete.”

~~~

Rodney discovered that he was disappointed when John chose to bed down on his clean laundry. Not that he was worried about cat hair on his uniform (which was black anyway), but he’d been sort of looking forward to having…oh God, he was pathetic looking forward to sleeping with a cat.

But it was very soothing falling asleep with a small, furry body purring beside you. That wasn’t crazy.

“You going to be okay over there?”

“Mowr!”

“Fine, fine, I’ll stop asking.”

He could hear John grumble as he poked the laundry into comfortable lumps. Rodney dimmed the lights and lay awake a long time, listening to the soft, even breathing across the room. John snored delicately a few times, and snorting softly to himself, Rodney finally tucked his cheek into his own pillow and fell asleep.

He woke to a hideous, pitiful yowling.

“John? Are you okay?”

 _Aaaroooowr!_ There was a muffled thump, and Rodney turned on the lights.

John was tangled in one of Rodney’s t-shirts and fighting furiously to get out, crying out in fear and possibly even pain.

“John. John! Colonel! Stop!”

John fought harder for a few furious seconds, claws poking through the fabric, then went limp. “Aow?” he asked in a high pitched voice.

Rodney crept close enough to touch the tangle of cat and shirt. “It’s me, John. You’re okay.” He stroked what looked like John’s side.

John’s head sought his hand through the cotton material, sniffing. “Aoowr?”

“You stay still and let me get you out of this.”

John had somehow gotten himself lodged in one of the sleeves and then wrapped up in the main body of the t-shirt. All Rodney had to do was untangle and hold it so John could skooch backwards out of it.

“There you go.” Rodney ruffled his head, as John lay limp and sad on the floor. “Did you have a dream or something?”

John flicked his tail twice.

Rodney lay on his side and stroked John for a long time. Not looking at him, John got up and walked completely around and behind Rodney, before strolling to his side and pressing close against his chest. He tucked his face between Rodney’s shoulder and neck and sighed. He was shaking.

Rodney stroked his back in long, smooth strokes.

After a long while, he stroked John’s back one last time and pulled away. He climbed back into bed, turned the corner of the sheets down, patted the bed and held out one arm.

John stared up at him, his face soft and sad. He leapt up and walked along Rodney’s side until he was standing at the junction of Rodney’s arm and chest. He butted his head against Rodney’s ribs and looked up at him, questioning.

“Before morning, please?” Rodney snarked affectionately.

Ears twitching, John settled down, chin propped on Rodney’s shoulder. Rodney wrapped his arm around him and thought the lights off. Reaching over with his other hand, he stroked John’s ears until his small, purring body relaxed into sleep.

~~~~


	5. The Houseguest

Rodney figured that John might want to hide out in his quarters for a little while, getting used to being a cat. But he got up when Rodney did and leapt to the floor. Both of them ignored the fact that John had slept stretched along Rodney's side, his head resting on Rodney shoulder and Rodney's arm wrapped around him.

“Mmmring,” Rodney mumbled, scrubbing at his face. It had been a weird night last night - not unpleasant - but he was feeling extra bleary.

“Prrt,” Sheppard replied, disgustingly awake and cheerful. He padded over to the bathroom and stood in the doorway. “Mrrow?”

“Hmm? Yeah, go ahead.”

Sheppard strolled inside and Rodney paused to boggle a bit at him figuring out how to use the toilet in his current form, but he wasn’t about to ask. He heard the shower turn on _and_ the sink, and stumbled to the doorway.

“You taking a shower?”

John, drinking from the faucet, his paws and tail well away from the stream, looked up at him flatly.

“'M just asking!” Rodney huffed. “Um, thanks.” Despite their most energetic attempts, the first few moments of a shower on Atlantis were ice cold. John had turned it on to warm it up for Rodney. He was a thoughtful guest, what a surprise. Clean, unobtrusive, helpful, a perfect gentleman but a bit of a bed-hog, an unconscious bit of imperfection that pleased Rodney no end. And of course, a neat-freak, which Rodney supposed was only marginally due to his current species.

They’d brushed the remaining mud out of John’s fur last night with Rodney’s fingers and Rodney’s own comb. John had taken one look at the running shower and backed away, forgetting he could turn it off. He’d allowed Rodney to comb him, wipe him down and wash between his toes with a damp washcloth so he wouldn’t eat mud, and did the rest of his grooming himself, not seeming bothered at all by licking his own shoulders.

John, turning off the sink, hopped off the bathroom counter and trotted away, thankfully preventing Rodney from having to ask for some privacy. Later, when Rodney stumped out of the shower in his towel, marginally more awake, Sheppard was nowhere in sight.

“Colonel?” He glanced around nervously. “Did you go to breakfast without me? I thought we decided…”

His balcony door was open. “Sheppard?”

John was sitting in a patch of sunlight, straight and tall, gazing out at the sea.

“Sheppard?” Still no response.

“John?” he asked softly.

“Mrowr?” John glanced over one shoulder at him.

“Why didn’t you answer me? I called you four times!”

John stared at him steadily. Rodney stared back, considering.

“You pick _now_ to choose which name to answer to?”

“Mow.” John looked a little embarrassed, but stubborn. Typical.

“Could you bear to wait until I have some _pants_ on? And oh, I don’t know, _breakfast?_ ”

John turned away and collapsed gently on the balcony, sprawling in the sunlight. Rodney huffed and stomped off to find some clothes, realizing belatedly that John had gone to the farthest point away from the bathroom to give him privacy.

Grumbling to himself, he marched back and stood in the doorway. “Um, thanks. You didn’t have to come all the way out here.”

“Maar.” John said kindly, his eyes half shut.

Rodney, feeling oddly shy, fussed with tucking in his shirt.

“About the name thing. I, um. I think it’s important that I not seem too familiar with you. Yes, you’re staying here, and yes, you’re a cat and I’m the only person who seems to have a clue about that, but you’re still, technically, military commander. I think that while you’re in this form we should, I should, address you with the same formality to preserve…”

John cut him off by standing abruptly and head butting him in the shin, purring loudly.

“You’re welcome?”

Brushing past him, John trotted over to the bed and jumped up on it. “Maa,” he demanded.

“You’re really bossy in the morning, you know that?”

“Maa?”

“Okay, okay.” Rodney walked over to him. “What?”

John sat on his haunches and reached up with his front paws. The trust in his posture and expression made Rodney’s breath catch. He bent down, wrapping his hands around John’s ribs and hindquarters, let John hook his claws into his shirt and hoist himself up. He stood, wincing a little, John cradled in the crook of his left arm and half-sprawled on his shoulder.

“Could we maybe do that when my jacket is on? Your claws are a bit sharp.”

Sheppard touched his jaw apologetically with a soft paw.

“It’s okay, just…if we can’t get you turned back right away, it’ll become an issue.”

“Mow.” John shifted, obviously wanting to finish the climb to lie across Rodney’s shoulders. He spotted him with a hand on his rump.

“Ready for some breakfast?”

John snuffled at his ear and purred.

“Are you sure you’re ready for the hordes of the uncouth?”

John’s purring abruptly stopped. Rodney walked into the bathroom and looked at him in the mirror. John's expression was the look he got when some chieftain shoved his daughter at him; utter, unforseen horror.

“Seriously, John. I can bring back some food.”

He reached up to scratch John’s ears and John thrust his head joyfully into his hand, his purr rumbling back full force.

“Well, when we’re here I figured…” Rodney said faintly, avoiding looking at himself blushing. “I mean,” he cleared his throat, "It's just us, and uh, _roommate_ , temporarily.”

John head butted his ear enthusiastically.

“Ow,” he sniped, tugging on John’s neck fur. “Need to hear with that.”

Sticking his nose in Rodney’s ear, John purred and snuffled loudly. Rodney moved his head and John followed it, gently taking the shell in his teeth.

“John,” Rodney said warningly, stomping down on a smile.

Releasing his ear, John looked him right in the eye, licked one paw quickly, then rubbed his cheek firmly against Rodney’s ear, leaving a slightly moist trace behind.

“Oh, _really?_ ” Rodney grinned at him, touched. John scent marked him again, then looking a little shamefaced, marked his t-shirt. (Or his shoulder, Rodney wasn’t sure which.)

“Anything else?” he asked sarcastically.

John leapt off his shoulders onto the bathroom counter. He marked the faucet, the counter, and Rodney’s mug. Hopping down, he went into a virtual orgy of scent marking, claiming the doorjamb, the bed, Rodney’s favorite pillow and the picture of his cat.

Rodney figured that was either identification or jealousy. He couldn’t decide which was freakier.

Hopping off the bed, John claimed another leg of it, Rodney’s third favorite laptop, the sofa, the door to the balcony and his desk.

“Not the chair?”

John looked at it a moment, his tail twitching faintly. He sat down and stared at it some more. “Maa,” he answered.

“Okay, suit yourself. Happy now?”

John leapt on top of the desk and scent marked his lamp. “Prrow? Brrrr, brrrrt,” he trilled. He looked relieved.

“That was…you went directly to all those objects; no hesitation, like you’d already chosen them. The instinct is that strong?”

 _”Mow.”_

“Huh.” He made a grand, flourishing gesture. “Well, then. Mi casa es su casa.” He clapped his hands together. “Breakfast? I hope you realize how lucky you are that I haven’t fallen into a caffeine-deprived coma.”

John twitched his ears. Rodney shook his finger at him. “I’m serious.”

“Mrrrt?” John jumped to the chair and pawed at Rodney’s jacket.

“Right.” He shrugged into it and looked at John for permission to pick him up. John waved a paw at him.

“What?”

“Mrowr.” He held out his paw as high as he could reach, then lowered it to shoulder height, then just above the seat of the chair. ”Prrowr, mmmr, mmmrtgt.” He made the motion again, then deliberately extended his claws toward Rodney’s arm. “Mmmrt.”

“Oh! Oh, okay.”

John hopped back to the desk and Rodney knelt in front of him, letting him clamber onto his shoulders.

“Much less painful.”

John scent-marked his ear again.

“Is it just the one ear you are particularly enamored with?”

John just purred.

“You know, we should see if you can weasel some extra bacon – real bacon – from the mess staff.”

“Mrowr,” John replied, and Rodney could _hear_ the amused drawl of John’s “real” voice.

“Just a thought, just a thought.”

John opened the door for them, still the perfect gentleman. Rodney bit down on yet another smile and headed for the mess, an unconsciously happy bounce in his step.


	6. Triptych

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Begins during day two of John's transformation, but meanders throughout the entire story.

**Rounds**

John and Rodney had taken position at an Ancient console to wait for Elizabeth and the negotiation team to come back through the wormhole from Gata. Rodney was under the unit, where he had been forced to fake repairs for the last half-hour. (He _was_ taking things apart and putting them back together, so, well, it was maintenance-related and would certainly run better when he was through.)

On top of the console, nestled between two workstations, John was sleeping off the stress of the morning. Being affectionately mobbed at breakfast had been more than slightly terrifying, Rodney knew (he’d felt the trembling when John had crawled onto his shoulder and started yowling) but they’d both been horrified and bored at the series of tests Carson and Heightmeyer had decided to put John through. And that was only the beginning of the morning.

Rodney had prepared a batch of multiple choice questions to augment the Prime/Not Prime proof of Sheppard’s intact intelligence, but no, they weren’t nearly enough for the medical professionals. Rodney decided that meant, “The people we have to write reports to - proving that we’re not making this shit up - will need more documentation.”

Having terrorized John the day before, Carson and Dr. Vasha were overly careful and gentle with him, Carson speaking in the idiotic voice favored by stupid tourists hoping that loud+slow = understandable. It irritated Rodney and mostly amused John, whose ears twitched in a very familiar way.

Actually, so did Heightmeyer’s lips, when Carson wasn’t looking, which made Rodney almost like her this morning. She was kind of smart. And blonde. But still. Voodoo. Vasha, he watched like a hawk in case she pulled out the clippers again. John had his full and savage backing to disembowel her for that kind of draconian crap.

He was almost completely certain that John had waited until Carson had become engrossed in the results of some voodoo printout before he crept up behind him and let rip a bone-chilling “death to doctors” yowl. Rodney had seen it coming and the hairs on the back of his neck still stood up.

Carson screamed and fumbled his file, spilling it to the floor. He cast a wild, wary eye on John, who had assumed a pretzel-like-posture and was grooming his tail peacefully, holding it trapped under one paw as if it could get away. Rodney went for the smug/superior look, but was totally howling with laughter on the inside.

“All right, Colonel, I suppose I more than deserved that.”

John unwound himself gracefully and sat in the unnaturally straight and serious posture he seemed to favor when he wanted to make himself look impressive, which was completely unnecessary, given that every one knew Carson, in personal matters, crumbled faster than an over-baked scone. He stared silently at the doctor, the wrath of a man-handled innocent boiling in his eyes.

“Dinna look at me like that, man. I was doing my best.”

John’s tail began to lash back and forth ominously.

“Look,” Carson babbled. “Every test confirms that your brainwaves are far more human than feline and your intelligence tests are actually a bit better – picked up a wee bit of extra spatial acuity, isn’t that much, but still excellent - so you are free to go now. Sorry to take so much of your time this morning, but I just wanted to make sure…”

John continued to stare. Rodney imagined he could see sweat beginning to form on the doctor’s brow. Carson wrung his hands.

“Colonel?”

John remained motionless, except for his tail, which was picking up speed.

“John. Please. Accept my apologies, my sincerest apologies for yesterday.”

Rodney fake coughed, “KKbbbproxyh!” (A crude reminder done solely for the benefit of Sheppard’s amusement.) Rodney was enjoying being a spectator, for once, and letting John do all the heavy lifting. Or heavy tail twitching in this case.

To be honest with himself - which Rodney always was - this form of interrogation/dressing down was something he could never pull off. The argument in his head and the perfect, perfect points he had would just come spilling out as so many pearls before swine. As a master of _that_ form (the scathing diatribe), he could recognize a master of another. John was also pretty good at the well-placed wind-up, but currently did not have the right kind of larynx for that.

“Yes, yes, the proxy. It was wrong of me not to call Rodney right away, and to examine you without him.”

The tail slowed to a slow, dirge-like drumbeat and John’s ears twitched.

“And I should not have let Elizabeth convince me to overlook your right to proxy. I should have stood firm as a doctor and a friend. Christ, man, I made an awful blunder, and I hope you can forgive me.”

John blinked slowly and curled his tail around his feet. “Mow,” he said quietly.

Relief flooded Carson’s features. “Thank you lad. I was afraid I’d destroyed our friendship.”

Sheppard half-closed his eyes, sealing the acceptance of the apology. Carson reached out to pat him (Was he _addled?_ ) John moved his head back a few centimeters.

Carson paled and straightened his lab coat. “It won’t happen again, Colonel.”

John sat still for a moment longer, staring into Carson’s eyes to let that promise sink in a little. Carson nodded firmly.

“Prrt?” he asked, not turning.

“I’m sorry, lad?”

“Excuse me, Carson, I think that was for me.” Rodney stepped forward. “Colonel? Your chariot awaits.” He stood in John’s peripheral vision.

“Maa.” John said firmly, and leapt off the table, striding purposefully to the door. Rodney, bemused at playing the muscle for once, gave Carson a frosty nod and followed Sheppard out.

He lengthened his stride to catch up with John, who was perched on one of the chairs in the waiting room.

“Got any prisoners that need interrogating? Marines in trouble? General miscreants? Like to help me unnerve this afternoon’s project review? You could sit in front of each scientist during their presentation and just stare at them, just like that. I tell you, I think it might be even more menacing than when you start to fondle your gun during trade negotiations.”

John looked up at him and blinked his eyes affectionately.

“I mean it. I was impressed, Colonel.”

Rodney talked him into a short jaunt through the labs by pointing out that it hadn’t been the hard science staff that had been all handsy with him. John grumbled in a pro-forma kind of way, but climbed relatively clawlessly onto Rodney’s shoulders.

“Just a little imperious glaring would be nice. Hissing if you only think the situation is necessary. And I don’t think we should really _scare_ any one quite yet. Just a little intimidation. Always the best way to start the morning.”

“Maaa,” John said, and Rodney could almost swear there was a hint of sarcasm in it.

Everything was going perfectly well until they hit Rodney’s wing. The chemists had been easy to intimidate, since Keller was allergic and began sneezing in a terrified manner.

Jensen and Ackles in Engineering were actually too dim to notice John (or acknowledge him) until he hopped off Rodney’s shoulders and sat in front of Ackles for an impromptu report on his project.

Rodney couldn’t see Sheppard’s face, but from the sweat pouring down Ackles’, he was thought John was staring him down. Rodney glanced at the whiteboard behind the hapless engineer for a moment, frowning. Something there wasn’t quite right.

“Maowr!” John said, a hint of an annoyed growl in his voice. Ackles started and John leapt from his lab table to the vacant one nearest the whiteboard. He looked back at Rodney.

“Mowr,” he said seriously, his tail thrashing.

“Colonel? Calculations off?”

“Maaa,” John affirmed, walking to the left lower quadrant of the board and staring at it like it personally offended him. (Which it had.)

“You’ve…you’ve got to be kidding me,” Jensen spluttered. Ackles had elected to go a pasty white.

“No, no, he’s not, Jensen. Colonel Sheppard has a B.A in Applied Mathematics and an M.A. in Aeronautical Engineering.”

“But, but…he’s…”

“Yes, in the armed services, I know, and they send him to go _shoot_ things. The waste of a perfectly good brain, but what can you do, he likes flying.” Rodney shrugged. “And lucky for us that he’s here to catch your ridiculous mistakes, Ackles.”

John had hopped back to Ackles’ table and looked up at pasty-faced scientist.

“Mrrow, prrr, rrrrt,” he offered.

“Don’t give him the answer!” Rodney snapped. “How else is he going to learn? Suffice, it Ackles, to say, that if you launch the module with those calculations, you need to have your affairs in order.” He scooped John up to his shoulders.

“I’ve got meetings the remainder of the morning, so if neither of you can puzzle it out, don’t touch anything and call Radek. You’re in Atlantis, Ackles, not Princeton. Mistakes like that could sink the city.”

“Y-yes sir. A-and thank you.”

“Don’t thank me, thank the Colonel; he caught it first, though I’m sure I would have momentarily.”

“Colonel,” Ackles managed to dribble, still looking pretty pale.

“And eat something; you look like you’re about to keel over.”

“Y-yes, sir.”

They left, the two scientists gaping at them.

Rodney smacked his own forehead in dismay. “Okay, you were great, but _eat something_?? Call Radek? Jesus, I’m becoming my great aunt Betty!”

“Maaa.”

“No, you’re supposed to come off all mysterious and intimidating and I’m the Wrath of Science. You’ve got the mysterious and kind of creepy/astonishing thing, flaunting your math skills, but I’m…I’m…oh crap; I’m the good cop! I don’t want to be good cop! I’M the one who is supposed to pluck their mistakes out of thin air and humiliate them. You’re supposed to be the one they confide in helplessly until you trip them up with your ninja skills.”

John purred and snuffled at Rodney’s ear. “Neeea?” he asked.

“Oh, shut up.”

John snuffled some more and bumped his head against Rodney’s.

“This is very confusing!” Rodney wrung his hands. “You’re, you’re a bad influence.”

He could _feel_ Sheppard up there on his shoulders, smirking.

His own lab was somewhat better, since Rodney had recovered enough of his bark to yell at Miko, who was totally ~~hogging~~ bothering Sheppard with a thorough ear scratching.

“What have you done to him, he looks drunk!”

“No, he is happy, Dr. McKay. I find his special ear spot. Makes all cats fall over and drool.”

“Well,” Rodney huffed, knowing full well what an ear spot was and bizarrely, irrationally, miffed Sheppard hadn’t drooled for him, “it’s hardly dignified, is it Colonel?”

John fought to open his eyes against the power of the scritch. “Brrwr,” he slurred, leaning his entire body-weight into Miko’s hand.

“Look at you! Have you no shame? No dignity?”

Miko giggled - actually giggled aloud - and Rodney was so surprised he stood with his mouth open for several seconds. He fought the urge to grab Sheppard and run, far, far away. She was much more dangerous than he’d ever imagined.

Slowly, Miko lowered her hand to the table and John followed it, eyes closed in kitty bliss. Once she had him stretched out on her lab table, she removed her hand, gave him one last pat, and went back to work, a very satisfied look on her face.

Sheppard lay in a puddle of limbs and fur, mostly asleep and, yes, drooling.

Rodney threw his hands in the air. “Unbelievable!”

Too flustered and irritable to remain in his lab, Rodney gathered up the unresisting (still mostly snoozing) Colonel and some tools and beat a strategic retreat to the gate room, where surely there was something that needed fixing.

 **Middle Panel: Hands Off Management**

 _Despite her skills as a diplomat, Elizabeth cannot quite make her self believably comfortable in John’s presence for the month that he is a cat. They both know it._

 _She understands that he is there, in that small body. She has all the reports, and she’s seen him in action._

 _People relate to him – even some of the newer expedition members that don’t know Sheppard – as if he were a person. Some pet him and play with him, and lord knows that Rodney is utterly besotted, but they _talk_ to him, even report to him just as they always did._

She can’t figure out how they understand what he’s saying. All she hears is the cry of an animal. It bothers the linguist in her. It _bothers_ her.

Maybe it’s the idea of it all; that the Ancients constructed something that would alter a person so much for nothing better than a bit of navel-gazing. It’s distasteful and overly self-indulgent. Some of that dislike bleeds over to John, helplessly. She needs him, needs his expertise and he’s just _not available_ , not like he should be. She can’t help but be irritated.

He feels it, she knows. Initially, he greeted her like he greeted all his friends, walking across the table to her and sniffing her hand or a giving a gentle nudge to her shoulder with his head. She smiled, but didn’t touch him if she could help it.

He bumps his head against shoulders and chests, allows people he likes to scratch his ears and stroke his back. He sprawls out across Ronon’s outstretched legs or Teyla’s lap, or snoozes on the table with one paw flung possessively over Rodney’s wrist. He respects her wishes, and no longer attempts to touch her.

She wishes that John would try one more time. She aches to touch his cool, silky fur, to hear the rumble of his happiness, and feel his small, strong weight. And maybe, if he wanted to sit with her a while, the sharp flashes of sheer, unreasonable jealousy would go away.

~~~  
 **Last Panel: Life in a Small Town**

News that Sheppard would be remaining in feline form for at least thirty days spread as news on Atlantis did, at light speed, though some have theorized that gossip actually travels faster. It certainly had the day he returned from Gata.

Rodney, in a fit of pique and righteous rage, locked everyone out of the email system for the evening after he discovered that the Colonel’s condition was, in fact, not private but the talk of the expedition.

“GET BACK TO WORK, YOU VULTURES”, he’d scolded. “AND PRAY YOU NEVER HAVE THE NEED FOR THE DISCRECTION OF YOUR COLLEGUES.”

He wanted to blame Radek, well-known as the hottest source of information in the city. (Rodney had a theory that he absorbed it through his wispy hair) But he was just as incensed as Rodney and cursed a lot. Whatever he said sounded pretty violent, and Rodney just didn’t think that he’d manufacture that kind of rage over an out-and-out-lie.

There was, for a half-hour or so, the rumor that Ronon and Teyla had returned without the Colonel and _with_ a kind of a Tasmanian-devil-sounding thing in a basket. No one had actually seen it, but it's roaring was evidently pretty threatening. Evidently this tidbit was passed around verbally from gate room personnel around the city.

Within just a few minutes, traffic on the network was speculating that the Tasmanian devil was Sheppard. The guy had like the weirdest luck with that kind of stuff.

“Tasmanian Devil?” Radek had whispered to Rodney, as they hunched over his computer in Sheppard's quarters. Sheppard was asleep under the blanket on the bed.

“You never watched Bugs Bunny cartoons?” Rodney asked incredulously. “Ugly, squat little guy, moves in a small cyclone and destroys everything in his path.”

“Hmm. Missed that one. They must have seen Ronon.”

Rodney chuckled a dry, he-deserved-it sort of chuckle over the Satedan’s shredded skin and clothing. “Good.”

Personnel in the infirmary at the time of Sheppard’s arrival had corrected the devil theory and confirmed that their military commander was, indeed, a medium-sized black domestic shorthair, the result of some off-world ritual gone awry.

No one was surprised at the transformation, and the general tenor of the email and posts on the expedition discussion boards was, “A cat? Really?”

The discussion devolved into whether the choice of cat was voluntary or forced upon him, and then into what kind of animal the Colonel _should_ have been transformed into. When Rodney got to the posts about winged horses, he clutched his head with both hands, helpless with incredulous fury. Radek made him go stand on the balcony while he shut down the social boards (until further notice) and started deleting the offending entries from the server.

“He must never, never see that,” Rodney whispered vehemently when he returned.

“Deleted, wiped from the server, and I have also disabled all networked printers,” Radek said firmly.

“Good. These people do not _deserve_ computers. Tomorrow we issue chisels and rocks.”

“That,” Radek said, a note of steel in his voice, “sounds promising.”

Rodney looked at him gratefully. He was pretty sure there was some nefarious scheme beginning behind those mild-mannered glasses. He decided he didn’t want to know.

The last allowed communication was the official memo from Elizabeth, announcing Major Lorne’s temporary assumption of the Colonel’s duties that glossed diplomatically over the situation and told the expedition next to nothing. She did mention that she was going to Gata personally to try to reverse the situation as quickly as possible. She urged people to respect Sheppard’s privacy at this, no doubt, difficult time. And she mentioned that Rodney was his proxy, and all _necessary_ communication with Sheppard should be directed to him. She forgot to say that Sheppard was in possession of his faculties.

“Hedging her bets,” said Rodney, bitterly, and Radek went off to the mess to get food, gather information and squash rumors. And probably eviscerate a few people, but again, Rodney wasn’t asking.

When Elizabeth returned from Gata, discouraged and grim, with the news that there was no way to reverse the process; they’d just have to let the transformation run its course.

The device the shaman used was an abandoned Ascension tool that allowed an Ancient to access his essential self, and learn from it, allow it to guide him to release his burdens.

“I ask the ancestral gods to show Sheppard his spirit guide. It is part of him,” the shaman insisted. “It is himself, without the mask of habit and fear and distraction. He must walk in the way of his spirit for the prescribed time. It is a great, great honor Sheppard has been given. Most are only are allowed to view ourselves for a week, maybe hours or days before the effect fades. The-Gata'nah-before-me spoke of a time when those gifted by the Ancestors walked in the way of their spirit for a full moon. Never any longer than that. No one has ever made the seeker light shine so brightly. It is my belief he will walk in spirit form in the full measure of time.”

 _Elizabeth explained the whole thing to John’s medical team, Rodney and Major Lorne. And, of course, John._

“It sounds very Jungian, actually,” Lorne said. He hadn’t been allowed to go in case the shaman was feeling like shaking his rattle at another ATA gene carrier.

Rodney gaped at him.

“I have depths,” Lorne replied dryly, and affected an injured sniff. Rodney closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Jungian Ancients,” Kate Heightmeyer said. “That’s very interesting.”

“But it doesn’t really get us anywhere,” Rodney said.

John, who was sitting with his paws curled underneath his chest, sighed.

“I’m very sorry I couldn’t do more, Colonel. Rodney,” Elizabeth said uncomfortably.

“Mrrow,” John said, resigned. He got up and padded over to Major Lorne. “Mow?”

“Would you like to go over the duty roster, sir? Hand over the keys to the car?”

“Mrrowr,” he said with firm sadness.

 _“I promise I’ll give the city back with a full tank and no scratches.”_

Most of the table chuckled, glad for a bit of comic relief. Sheppard twitched his ears at him and looked a little more cheerful.

Lorne looked to Dr. Weir. “If you’ll excuse me ma’am? I need to confer with my commander.”

“Um, yes,” Elizabeth said, a little dazed. “Yes. Dismissed. We’ll continue on as planned, then. Thank you.”

 **Life In A Small Town**

The Atlantis Expedition learned its lesson about intranet gossip under the watchful gaze of Rodney McKay. Despite the fact that the social bulletin boards were still shut down, improvised cat toys and accessories appeared spontaneously, as if in apology, within an hour of the news of Sheppard’s extended transformation.

A box lined with a USAF t-shirt appeared on Rodney’s lab table. A scratching pad made of cut and tightly-packed cardboard was left by Rodney’s door, along with a very fine toothed comb, and a pair of what once had been bunny slippers, cleaned, ripped apart and fashioned into a cat bed. Both John and Rodney were suitably impressed by the bed.

Rodney put it on his desk and John ignored it for two days, then began curling up in it while Rodney worked. He rested his chin on top of the lone remaining bunny head, right between the ears. It was almost cuter than Rodney could stand.

Discreet inquiries were made about the Pegasus version of catnip, which was kind of difficult since Pegasus didn’t exactly have cats like Earth cats. Arguments broke out over at the botany and xenobiology tables regularly for a few meals.

Eventually, Botany offered John some wheatgrass growing in a very nice bowl, which he nibbled politely until Rodney told him it would probably make him barf, since it was a digestive aid for hairballs. John got up abruptly and left the mess. He agreed to let Rodney brush and comb him regularly, which became more enjoyable for both of them the less they thought about hairballs.

Radek had a quiet word with the chefs and tiny molasses-flavored cookies appeared in an airtight tin, slightly greasier than Rodney would expect. Radek said gruffly, "Is feline digestive biscuit. Now do not talk to me, I am very busy." John sat guard on Radek's desk all that day, and hissed at anyone who dared to approach.

Botany remained in disgrace for over a week, but redeemed themselves with a cat tree, fully six feet high, wrapped in native sisal-like substance on the support beam, and had two sitting platforms and a cubby, all covered in padding and bright, soft Athosian cloth.

John let the botanists scratch his ears and flirted with all of them shamelessly, flopping on his side and allowing them to pet him before he took up residence in the cubby. He wouldn’t get out of it to let Rodney pick it up properly, so several of John’s botanical fan-club picked it up and shuffled all the way to Rodney’s quarters with it, laughing and cooing at John, who had the air of a rajah riding in his sedan chair. Rodney was rolling his eyes so hard he nearly walked into a wall.

The soldiers, after conspicuously not making Sheppard anything, created an even more luxurious “referee” chair, complete with bell, to referee their basketball games. Belatedly, they asked him to if he’d _like_ to referee. He accepted graciously.

Engineering made him a skateboard. Rodney was terrified of it and started work on a small helmet, which he knew in his heart Sheppard would never wear.

The pilots lobbied Elizabeth to take him on flights. Elizabeth worried he'd convince them somehow to let him fly. Rodney wanted to take him to the mainland with the team for a picnic, and it shocked her so much that Rodney was asking for time off that she nearly said yes. Then she thought, _predators_ and blurted the word aloud. Rodney went pale and walked out without a murmur. So, she didn't have to make a decision about that right away.

The Physics department, with the consulting services of Teyla, Ronon and the Athosian herbalist, found the Pegasus version of catnip, or merryweed, much to the chagrin of Xenobiology and Botany. They held a private party in the main lab one Friday night, got plastered, and tried smoking some of the merryweed, which was damn good.

They laughed themselves sick when John went on a crazed tear around the lab floor and then stopped, vibrating slightly, in the very center of the conversation pit of pillows Simpson had arranged in the corner.

He toppled gently over and rolled, belly up and paws flopping, and crooned long and low at the ceiling. It sounded kind of like he was singing. Rodney had to be propped up by Ronon, as he was laughing too hard to breathe. Teyla gave John a ball of wadded up paper, which he fought fiercely for a few seconds before dropping abruptly into sleep.

The assembled party blinked at him, waiting for the next act, and when nothing happened went back to their conversations, which were chiefly about childhood pets and getting stoned.

John woke up as the party ended and only the team was left, sprawled on the cushions. He crawled over to Rodney and stood on his thighs, propping his front paws on Rodney’s chest. He crooned again, very earnestly, then snuggled as far up Rodney’s chest as he could with Rodney sitting upright, and fell asleep again, purring loudly.

Teyla sighed, sounding a little moonstruck. Rodney peered at her, puzzled. She was gazing at John fondly.

“Everyone fusses over you," he said to sleeping John, stroking his back. "You’re like the town rock star.”

“There are no children here,” Ronon said.

“Mmm?”

“No children, no pets.” Teyla added.

“Ah,” Rodney replied. “Displaced affection. Parenting instincts. Favored son.”

“I do not think is displaced,” Teyla said, “it makes people happy.”

“It makes you happy,” Ronon rumbled.

“Mmm,” Rodney said dreamily. “It does.”

~~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Having some trouble with the coding, and by extension, my carpal tunnel. Hoping the new archive update will help, but first; some rest and ice. More soon. It will, eventually, all be here. In the meantime, the entire thing is here: http://beadattitude.livejournal.com/267757.html


	7. Semper Fi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The U.S. Marine motto is _Semper Fidelis_ or Always Faithful. It is often shortened to _Semper Fi_. I know that Lorne is USAF, but I think of him, at heart, as a loyal, faithful guy. So it stuck. The USAF motto, by the way, is a call-and-response "Aim High...Fly-Fight-Win," which is, I suppose, because "Clear Eyes, Full Hearts...Can't Lose!" was under copyright by somebody else. And, you know, not really about flying. ANYway.....

It was a first for Major Evan Lorne, though a lot of things in the Pegasus Galaxy were. Some of them were fun, like busting an ancient Ancient spaceship out of drydock, Athosian harvest festivals and the time he, Sheppard and Novak did the Funky Chicken in a cave until it gave up some nadaquah. Good times.

Some of the firsts were not as enjoyable, like a new galaxy of Goths gone wrong who ate people, the amount of paperwork his C. O. delegated and the first time McKay made a 6’5”, 220 lb. Marine cry and Lorne had to mop up the mess. A big man can generate an awful lot of snot. He was very sorry he knew that.

And then there was the alarming habit his boss was developing of being occasionally possessed, transforming into an alien/human reptilian hybrid, or turning into a house cat. It wasn’t like the Colonel did it on purpose or anything, but still. Geez.

“You’ll do anything to get out of writing the end of the month reports, won’t you sir?” he observed dryly.

Colonel Sheppard half-closed his eyes in contentment and the very tip of his tail flickered back and forth.

Lorne had never taken a meeting with a cat before. Well, there may have been cats in the room a couple of times, but he’d never reported to them.

Doctors Weir, McKay and Beckett, along with one of the xenobiologists, Dr. Vasha and Dr. Heightmeyer had promised him up, down and sideways that Colonel Sheppard was in there, understood every word he was saying, and just looked and possessed some of the instincts and mannerisms of a cat.

Right. But he’d never seen a cat sit that straight. Of course, it only made his whole black-on-black-on-fur thing a little more formal and dignified. He fought the urge to salute. Sheppard, after all, couldn’t salute back.

They also warned him not to pick the Colonel up without his permission. He had no problem with that; he’d seen Teyla and Ronon post-mission gingerly walking down the hall, looking like they’d lost a pocket knife battle with a couple of mud wrestlers wielding tree branches.

Whatever had tangled with Ronon Dex had left the man looking more battle shaken than he’d ever seen the big guy. Lorne hoped that whatever they had engaged was put down and put down for good.

Once he discovered what had happened to them – a whole Keystone Cops SNAFU with Ronon, Teyla and a half-dozen Gatan elders chasing a terrified four-legged Colonel over hill and dale until he went to ground in a thicket of Gatan thorn bushes - he was gleefully proud of his boss.

Reportedly, when he’d been finally been detached one claw at a time from the bushes, Ronon picked him up and he pretty much shredded they guy's shirt and abs. One foot tall, scared out of his mind and still a badass.

A badass with a potential for a hairball problem, but still; badass.


	8. They Do Not Teach This Stuff In Med School

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was the second story written in this series, and one of my personal favorites. SO much fun to funnel John's non-verbal communication through a cat-filter.

It was very clear to Kate Heightmeyer that John Sheppard knew the value of silence. The stubborn son of a taciturn father, he knew how to keep his peace and wait the other guy out.

Of course, sometimes it backfired, once she was wise to technique; she wasn’t bad at it herself. They’d sit in her office, the breeze blowing through her billowy curtains, staring one another down until John blurted something or Kate asked a question he could answer.

There had been a couple of required post extra-crazy mission sessions where he stumbled in and stared at her, flat eyed and exhausted, in no shape to talk about anything.

"I'll make you a deal," she said, one time when he looked like he was going to keel over. "Stay here, take off your boots and relax, and we'll count it as a session." She walked to her large Athosian-made basket-chest, took out a soft green blanket and placed it on the coffee table in front of him. Gathering her notes, she retreated to the far end of her office, where she stayed until the hour was up.

He had slept. He thanked her awkwardly for it, but the gratitude in his eyes had been very eloquent. She was honored he could relax there. When she thought it appropriate, she'd take the blanket out and withdraw. They never talked about it again.

Eventually, they were able to establish a connection strong enough that he could walk in, announce a topic that was bothering him, and she’d ask questions or make observations that, most of the time, seemed to help. Not that these sessions were easy – John Sheppard would probably never find it easy to admit his feelings, repression was too much of a habit – but he had joked with her once that the session had “been almost as good as a nap.”

Of course, there was a whole new dimension to John’s inability to express himself when he was turned into a cat and stuck that way for a month.

John strolled into Kate’s office on his third day as a cat and jumped up on the sofa. The blanket he had used several times was sitting on Kate’s coffee table, folded into a pad. She’d taken it out just in case, on the off chance it held enough of his scent to be comforting.

“Hello, John,” she said, pleased. “I was wondering when you’d stop by.”

He twitched his ears at her and licked his paw. She smiled to reassure him. Paw-licking was normally a sign of nervousness.

Kate only let the silence stretch a minute before she opened her desk drawer and drew out what she'd prepared before she gathered her pad and walked to her customary chair. She sat as if it were just another session and took in his demeanor and body language.

“I’ve never seen a cat sit so straight in my life.”

John licked his paw five times rapidly and resumed his perfectly contained stance.

“It’s not like it’s going to make you any taller. Or look less like a cat. You do, however, look very dignified.”

The tip of his tail started to twitch. She raised her hands, palms up.

“I’m just reminding you that you can be comfortable in here.”

John made sort of a grumbling squeak, but stood up and turned around a few times, sniffing the cushions delicately. He tucked his paws underneath his chest and settled into the corner of the sofa, looking faintly embarrassed.

Kate continued to smile pleasantly.

“Meer!” John complained, giving her a very level look.

“Are you embarrassed to be a cat?”

John put his head down on the couch and sighed hugely, closing his eyes as if to shut out the outrageous question.

“John.”

He opened his eyes and looked at her.

“From what I understand of the Gatan culture, this form is representative of a part of your spirit or psyche.”

He glared at her. The tip of his tail twitched in agitation.

“You know what I think?”

His ears twitched.

“I think you should enjoy it.”

John shifted and raised his head, stretching his paws out in front of him in a Sphinx-like position. He looked alert, interested and a little bit skeptical.

“First of all? Not a danger to yourself or others, unlike the Iratus incident. Nor is there any loss of your self. From every test we have performed, you are John Sheppard. You just happen to be in a different form than usual, and that form has many of the same physical talents you do. But now, you have enhanced vision, hearing and smell, the reflexes, the speed, heck, the extra flexibility; it seems like you’d really love that. “

John licked his lips and shifted his paws a few times, obviously thinking that over. He finally looked up at her and said with a long note of complaint, “Mrrrrrrrrowr.”

“Flying?”

“Mow.”

“Flying is your passion, yes. It is a very large part of you, but I think that this form is more in line with your personality. You aren’t just a flyer, which is, for a human, as much of an intellectual pursuit as a matter of talent and inclination. And you are not as fragile as a bird. You're tough and your bones are not hollow. You are a loner with the charisma to lead, you’re a natural athlete and you’re a fighter with incredible tactical instincts.” She raised an eyebrow. “And you always seem to land on your feet. “

John twitched his ears at her in what she was beginning to believe was his version of an eye roll. Then he rested his head on his paws. He sighed.

“You have a vacation from your duties, though I hear that you’ve been accompanying Lorne on rounds, which is entirely in-line with a cat’s territorial nature. You don’t have to be pleasant and sociable if you don’t wish to; you’re a cat! And no one will be bothered if you hang around the people you trust most.”

He thumped his tail on the sofa angrily, twice.

“Yes, I know that you decided not to pursue that, for very understandable reasons. I would like to suggest that this is an opportunity for you to see your friends and many other things from an incredibly different perspective. Don’t cheat yourself of that. Give it some thought.”

John licked his right paw a few times, the nervous tic slowing into grooming. He rubbed his ear in a gesture that was very much like when he’d scratch the back of his head. Then, he yawned.

“There’s a really great patch of sun by the second window,” Kate offered, allowing him to retreat into his thoughts. She’d given him enough food for thought without pushing.

John rose and jumped across to the coffee table, landing on the blanket Kate had set out. He padded across it until he stood in front of her. He looked at her straight in the eye for a few long seconds, then leaned forward and bumped her knee with his head, purring.

It was the most eloquent thanks from she'd received from a client and the most direct communication she’d _ever_ had from Sheppard.

“You’re welcome, Colonel. May I?” Kate reached her hand out tentatively.

John sat and bowed his head. She stroked his ears and his neck softly twice. He glanced up at her with what she could swear was a bit of the Sheppard mischievous charm. He was laughing at her. She made an apologetic face.

“Hey,” Kate grinned sheepishly. “I miss my cat, so, um. Thanks.” She slid her professional smile back on. “I'm putting this by the window. My next appointment isn’t until after lunch.” She set a small, handmade ball on the edge of the coffee table as she stood to retrieve the blanket. The bells inside it jingled.

“I think I’m going to get a cup of coffee. Do you need anything? Water?”

John, who was staring at the ball, absently replied, “Mrow.” No, then.

“Okay,” Kate replied. “I’ll slip in the back way when I come back, so I won't disturb you.

Kate put her notes away and put the blanket by the window, which she opened slightly so John could sniff the ocean air. Her Minka – back on Earth – had enjoyed just such a spot in her house.

She stood outside the door for a few long moments afterwards, listening. Very faintly, she could hear the jingle of tiny bells and later, longer spaces between the jingles and running feet. She grinned a completely unprofessional grin and decided she deserved a doughnut. In fact, she deserved a chocolate-glazed one. With sprinkles.


	9. Belly Roll

John is drowsing against Rodney’s pillow when he comes home. The minute their eyes meet, John squeaks compellingly, rubs his cheek against the pillow and begins to arch toward Rodney. His purr rattles the room.

Abruptly, he freezes. Rodney is already frozen. It’s obvious that they both know that John was about to roll and show Rodney his belly.

John’s whole body stutters as parts of him don’t seem to be on board with stopping and he gives Rodney one hell of a startled look before bolting off the bed. He heads for the balcony.

Rodney putters around the room, cleaning up a little. It’s not as if he hasn’t rubbed John’s belly before. It’s just that previously, John had allowed it as part of grooming. For the first time, John had greeted Rodney and was about to flat-out _ask_ to be touched.

He's not going to let it go, he decides, not when John showed him so much trust. Mentioning it might not the manly thing to do, but one of them isn't a man at the moment and they are having a horrible week.

Having John greet him like that made Rodney...he shouldn't feel stupid about it. Neither of them should.

“Listen,” he says softly, standing next to the balcony door, “I’m not accustomed to anyone being very glad to see me unless I'm saving them from a fiery doom. So. That was. That was really. Thank you.” He watches the surprised line of John’s back before he turns away.

Long, long moments later, long after Rodney has slipped beneath the covers and begun muttering at his latest journal, John jumps on the end of the bed and pads over. Opening his arms, Rodney makes a place for him and John rests his head on Rodney's shoulder. His fur is cool from the breeze outside and he is somewhat subdued.

“Hey,” Rodney whispers. He reaches over to stroke John’s ears. John arches into his hand, eyes half-closed in contentment. He purrs.


	10. Teyla Catches On Quickly

“Colonel Sheppard, I did not expect to see you.”

Teyla smiled, touched he had come at their usual training time. They’d made their apologies days ago, but she was concerned he would feel continued discomfort in her presence. The way Ronon behaved, as if he feared John, did not help matters.

He looked inside the practice room hesitantly, as if he was worried he was disturbing her. “Mow?”

“Please, come in,” Teyla said, using Rodney’s suggestion to respond to the Colonel’s tone.

He trotted across the floor to her, tail held high. Teyla knelt quickly so as not to tower over him. She held her hand out in greeting – another of Rodney’s suggestions - and John sniffed it politely, then pushed at her hand with his head.

“I am glad to see you, too, John. I have missed our training sessions.”

He pushed at her hand one last time, then explored the room, sniffing nearly everything. Sometimes he would rub his cheek against something, which must have been the territorial marking Rodney spoke about. She bowed her head momentarily, silently giving thanks.

Colonel Sheppard had so many responsibilities and shouldered them quite well, especially for a man used to more solitary service in flight. He took his duties very seriously, for all his casual demeanor. If he felt that this was a place where he could let those duties fall away, that if this room was something he thought as home territory, she was more than happy to share it.

“Brrt!” John ran over to the area where they stored the spare fighting sticks and various other training tools. He stood on his hind legs and pushed at some of the sticks with his paw, making them rattle faintly. He looked at her, an eager, expectant attitude in every line of his small body.

“I am not sure stick fighting is the best activity for you at the moment. Particularly since you do not have thumbs.”

“Mrrrer!” John replied scornfully.

“I am glad that you agree,” Teyla said calmly.

“Mrrr? Mryhee?” He trotted quickly to the door and looked at her expectantly, his tail curled over his head.

"Do not take my words as dismissal, please. You are more than welcome to stay."

"Maa!" He came to her and pushed his head against her knee. Then he walked to the door again and opened it.

"Mryhee?"

“You wish to go somewhere?”

“Mow!” John trotted back to her and nudged her knee with his head. “Mryhee?”

“And you wish me to accompany you?”

“Mow!” He said happily and rubbed his cheek on her hand, making a pleasant noise in his chest. She was unexpectedly touched by it.

“Are you purring? Rodney said that you might purr if you are content.” She reached out instinctively to stroke his ears and he arched his neck under the touch, looking very content indeed.

“Brrrt,” he said, trilling pleasantly and gazed at her, eyes wide and full of fun.

Teyla laughed aloud. “John Sheppard,” she said fondly, marveling at how much he looked like _himself_ , his charm and easy manner masking deep affection and intelligence. The affection, however, was very rarely this apparent. “Now where would you like to go?”

Tail held high, John trotted to the door and opened it once more. “Brr?”

Teyla gestured for him to lead on.

He walked quickly and with purpose to the nearest transporter and opened that door as well. He stood aside for Teyla to enter, and once inside, commanded it where he wanted it to go.

“You have a plan, Colonel,” she noted as they left the transporter.

“Meeer” John replied modestly.

“Have you ever fooled me with that tone?” she teased.

He ignored her and cantered a few meters ahead, looked down the hallway and ran back. They were nearing the area where Dr. Heightmeyer had her office.

“Are we almost there?”

“Mow.”

“Are we going to therapy?”

“ _Mee_ eer.” he complained cheerfully. "Mow. Mow." Teyla delighted to see him so happy.

Kate’s office was open, and John ran ahead of her and through the door, calling a greeting.

“Hello, Colonel,” Teyla heard Dr. Heightmeyer say. Reaching the doorway, she cleared her throat politely.

“Teyla,” the doctor said pleasantly. “Good morning.”

“Good morning, Doctor. I have been brought by Colonel Sheppard for some mysterious purpose.”

“Oh, really?” She glanced at John, who was sitting in the middle of her desk. “What’s up?”

John padded forward and crouched at the edge of the desk, extending one paw down where Teyla could not see.

“Oh,” Kate said, “I know what _you_ want.” She opened a drawer and pulled out a small, red ball. It jingled faintly.

“What is that?” Teyla asked.

The doctor grinned. “Something fun. Please shut the door?

Teyla touched the door panel.

“John,” Dr. Heightmeyer said, humor lighting her face, “Go long.”

Colonel Sheppard leapt off the desk, ran halfway across the office and turned, just as Kate threw the ball toward him. He made a spectacular vertical leap and batted it toward Teyla, who caught it reflexively and grinned.

She tossed it back to him, and this time, he caught it and trotted back toward her, kicking it until it rested between her feet. John sat in front of her, tail demurely curled, and waited.

“I think this is an excellent substitute,” she agreed solemnly.

“Mow!” John replied, retrieving the ball with his paw. He took it for celebratory lap around the office, the bells inside it jingling furiously.

“Substitute for what?” the doctor asked.

“Our usual training in stick fighting.”

“Mmm,” Kate replied, watching John flatten himself to the floor to stalk the ball. “Will it be enough of a workout for you?”

“That is not my focus today. Colonel Sheppard is becoming quite proficient and a worthy opponent, but today I look forward to learning from him... I am just glad that…” she spread her hands helplessly, joy and concern choking her words. “I am just glad.”

Kate smiled encouragingly. “I am, too. I wasn’t sure if he’d be comfortable playing like this in front of anyone.”

“I am doubly honored, then. Do you wish some assistance, Colonel?” John was peering under the doctor’s appointment chair, where the ball seemed to have rolled. He lay flat on the floor and reached under it with a paw.

“Maa,” he said calmly, wiggling to reach further under the chair. Eventually he sagged and looked up at her. “Meer?”

“Of course.” She knelt down and retrieved the ball with the aid of one of Dr. Heightmeyer’s notepads.

“We should head back to our training room, so that we will not disturb the doctor further.”

John nosed the ball toward Teyla, making it clear he wanted her to carry it. She pocketed the ball and he made a small sound that seemed like an apology.

“I am sure it is difficult without all those pockets your people insist upon,” Teyla observed slyly.

John twitched his ears at her, his tail waving back and forth.

“I think he’s rolling his eyes at you. At least that’s how I interpret the gesture,” Dr. Heightmeyer said.

“Come, Colonel, our time passes and we must devise our training.”

“Cats are very acrobatic, so be sure and include some jumps for him.”

“Maaa,” John complained, jumping up on Kate’s desk. He pressed his head briefly against the doctor’s shoulder and allowed her to stroke his neck and back. He purred loudly.

“After that jump you just made, it could hardly be a surprise,” the doctor said teasingly, blushing slightly.

He grumbled a little and buffeted her shoulder again, then hopped off the desk. “Mee?” he asked Teyla.

“I am ready.” Teyla opened the door, exchanging a smile with Kate as John eagerly ran ahead.

“This is very kind of you, Teyla.”

“It will be a pleasure. John is a dear friend.” With a friendly nod, Teyla hurried after her team leader.

“Colonel,” she called, “I believe I have an idea.”

John waited for her at the transporter, tail held high and nearly bouncing with excitement.

“You are like the young ones; so excited for an outing that they burn their energy before the first turning in the path. “

“Mowr!” And yet he walked in a sedate and dignified manner to the practice room, once again opening the door for her in the manner of earth gentle men and allowing her to enter first. She suppressed a smile.

Twenty minutes later, they were ready to begin in earnest. Teyla had folded and stacked some of the protective mats into structures that John could jump on or - with enough speed - over. Several fighting sticks formed a kind of bridge or obstacle for him and Teyla had one of the children’s beginner sticks in her hand to use as a bat and a wide, flat plastic disk John had encouraged her to borrow from another training room.

John ran to the opposite side of the room and crouched down, waiting for her signal.

She held the small, red ball in her hand. “Begin!” she said firmly, and John launched himself into the air.

It was an exhilarating half-hour. The object was for Teyla to throw the ball and John to return it, airborne, back to Teyla. If he was unable to hit the ball back to her, he had to use his new skills and agility to get it past her and through the “goal” she had created with mats on her end of the room.

John’s flexibility and speed in this form were truly impressive and Teyla found it necessary to push herself to return the ball to him in a way that would be challenging. She watched him for signs of fatigue, and called a halt for the day when his leaps became a bit lower and his ears drooped a little. He flopped himself gratefully on a stack of mats.

Teyla was pleasantly warm and slightly winded, her hair clinging damply to her cheeks as she retrieved her towel and water. She sat on the mat next to John, sprawled limply, the now still and silent ball held in place by one curled paw. His tail twitched in a tired way, twice, as she joined him.

“That,” Teyla said, wiping her face and neck. “was _most_ enjoyable.”

John rolled to his side and softly batted the ball at her. It jingled as it came to a stop next to her thigh.

“I believe I will be hearing those bells in my dreams tonight. Are they to attract a cat’s attention?”

“Mow,” John replied dreamily, rolling on to his back and closing his eyes. His paws dangled rather comically above him. It was the most relaxed Teyla had ever seen the Colonel. She fought the urge to rub his stomach where his fur was longer and looked quite soft. It seemed far too familiar a gesture.

John sighed happily, his eyes still closed.

“Are you thirsty, John?” Teyla asked.

He twisted his upper body and looked at her, his posture more comical than ever. Teyla bit back a smile. She began to understand why the expedition had made such a ridiculous fuss over Colonel Sheppard when he first appeared as a cat; in this form he seemed a creature made to be fussed over and pampered, though he was quite strong, skilled and capable. He just looked so _soft,_ and his contented vocalizations were quite soothing.

She wondered what it was about this animal – this domesticated animal – that was to represent and guide John’s spirit. She wished that she could ask him what cats meant to him. If he had shared his life with one, as Rodney had.

It seemed that as a cat, John was forced to rely on his friends, must allow them to help him, in ways that he would not have dreamed of asking before. In order to communicate, he had to make himself very clear and direct, which to someone who had difficulty revealing himself at times, must be horrifying. And for Rodney McKay to be his chief interpreter…

A paw on her leg brought her out of her reverie. “Mow?” John asked, seeming hopeful.

“Yes, water. Let me see what I can do.” Teyla rose and searched through the various baskets of items in the room, and came up with a small shallow, clean saucer that could be used for incense, but clearly had not. She poured John a generous measure as he watched her – still in his prone position – his head turned so that his view of the room was upside down.

He stretched hard, even his toes (a gesture Teyla found completely charming), and one of his front paws brushed her wrist. She wasn’t sure if it was intentional, but when she looked up, he had a pleasant, relaxed expression.

Rolling gracefully, he rose and lapped water from the saucer. Teyla rested and sipped from her bottle, only looking up when she heard the door open.

“There you are,” Rodney said to John, not sounding irritated at all. “Wow, did you have cat steeplechase in here or something?”

Teyla raised her eyebrows, “Steeplechase?”

“Obstacle course.” He looked down at John, smiling. “So, good workout? Looks like you made Teyla break a sweat for once.” He looked up at Teyla, suddenly stricken with embarrassment. “An amazingly attractive warrior-like sweat,” he amended.

Teyla inclined her head with grave amusement.

“Mowwww,” John replied emphatically and threw himself on the mat with a thump. He rolled to his back again, seeming to offer Rodney his belly, a surprisingly vulnerable gesture. He twisted until he was looking at Rodney from upside down, and reached a paw out to him.

To her astonishment, Rodney sat on the other end of the mat and stroked his soft fur. “You look like you’ll need a nap before lunch.”

John yawned and closed his eyes contentedly.

“I didn’t mean _now_. Literalist,” he huffed, still patting him, great affection in his voice. John didn’t budge. “How long did you two work out?” he asked Teyla.

“Almost an hour, on the Colonel’s part, I would say. We trained here, hard, for a half hour, but he spent a great deal of time running before that; excitement I think. When we went to Dr. Heightmeyer’s office to retrieve John’s ball, he would run down the hall and then back…”

Rodney held up a hand. “Excuse me, his what?”

Teyla looked around, patting their mat bench, then found the ball from under a fold of her skirt. “This.”

Rodney took it from her fingers gently and looked at it from all sides. “I’ll be dammed,” he said. “Who made this?” He shook it, making it jingle.

“Kate Heightmeyer, I presume.”

“Huh. Very intelligent of her,” he said, only slightly grudging.

“She was the one who gave me the idea for this game. When we were in her office, she had John run away from her, what did she say, ‘Go long?’ John ran and she threw the ball to him. His ability to jump is quite impressive.

“Huh,” he said again, looking more pleased. “I wonder where she got the bells.”

“I think I will be hearing those bells the rest of the day,” Teyla confided. “And into the night.”

Rodney chuckled. “That’s nothing. My cat on Earth used to find the noisy toys at 3 o’clock in the morning and go berserk, sending them ricocheting all over my apartment." He handed the ball back to her firmly. "Don't want a repeat of that."

Between them, John snored a small, delicate snore. Rodney’s face lit up with a grin, and Teyla covered her mouth to prevent herself from laughing aloud.

“I would never say anything to him,” Teyla whispered, “but this form is completely…” She shrugged, unable to find the correct word. “I want to rub the fur on his stomach, very much, which is very inappropriate, but, he’s just so…”

“Adorable? Cute? Cuddly?” Rodney whispered back, looking like a man whose willpower was regularly tested.

 _”Yes,”_ Teyla said fervently.

John, still sleeping, made a groaning little noise and curled up in a ball, his paws over his nose.

Rodney rolled his eyes and stroked the back of his head.

Not budging, John said warningly, “Brrt!”

Seeing the enchanted look on Rodney’s face, the hairs on her arms and neck rose like when in music there was, for a moment, perfect harmony. She shivered slightly, shaken by the joy of her thoughts.

Teyla Emmagen knew exactly why the Gatan device had made John a small, black predator, needing to connect with others to thrive, the loss of his sometimes clumsy words of necessity demanding the freedom to act out his affections, and his grace, strength and humility easily visible. _This_ was the proper form for the spirit of John Sheppard, instead of a fierce flying creature soaring above the ocean and holding himself apart from others, excepting the small family he strove to protect.

She smiled to herself, imagining what Rodney might have turned into, because only her two beloved friends would need a lesson this drastic in order to know themselves. John, still sleeping, made an ungraceful snort, pushing the smile into a laugh beyond her control. Rodney looked at her, confused, but willing to join in and she leaned forward, mastering her laughter, to grasp his shoulders.

“I am grateful,” she said seriously, her voice still slightly breathless, “to have such friends as you.” She pressed her forehead against his for a long moment, until Rodney’s surprise eased and his breathing evened out. Teyla pulled away, smiling.

Blushing furiously, but not at all displeased, Rodney asked. “What was that for?”

Teyla changed her position on the mat, tucking her feet underneath her and arranging her skirt to allow Rodney a moment to regain his composure; he could be so undone by an affectionate gesture.

“I have had a delightful morning and am grateful to have two such men as my friends.”

“Oh, well.” Rodney’s blush did not subside, but spread down his neck. “Um, I am too. And John, I’m sure. To have you…and J-Sheppard and…of course that great lummox Ronon. I’ve never…except for when my sister and I were…” his face fell, “But we don’t, we don’t….hey, you forgot to mention Ronon.”

“Rodney,” she teased him gently. “He may be out of the room, but not out of my thoughts. And thank you. You did not finish your thought, but…thank you.”

“I am so _bad_ at this stuff.”

“You,” she said, reaching forward and smacking him on the arm, “are very wrong about that. You are a fine man whose thoughts trip his tongue near to breaking. Not every kind word must be perfectly phrased.”

Rodney made a noise both pleased and partially wishing to argue the point, but from the mat below, John woke, squeaking as he stretched. Teyla glanced to see if he stretched his toes again and pointed it out to Rodney. They shared a moment of silent glee.

John looked up at them, slightly disgruntled.

“Of course we were talking about you,” Rodney said, aiming badly for his normal snapping tone.

“I am astounded by your leaping ability and your newfound flexibility has me red with jealousy.”

“Green,” Rodney corrected.

“Green,” Teyla said firmly, nodding.

John looked at Teyla’s face, then Rodney’s, clearly believing they had lost their minds during his nap.

“Hey, sleepy, why don’t we go find a snack or something? I’m starving. Of course, Teyla, you can…”

“I must do a few things before midday. I will join you another time.”

Rolling to his feet, John demurely washed his ears and licked his paw several times, a nervous-seeming gesture. He walked in front of her, placed his front paws on her crossed ankles and looked up into her face.

“Prrrrb, prrrrt?” he said tentatively. He wasn’t quite looking her in the eye, which was odd. He seemed to be staring at her…hair? She brushed a lock off her forehead.

“I am sorry, I don’t understand.”

He shifted from one paw to the other for a moment, then reached one up toward her face as if trying to point to something.

“Prrt?”

“Oh!” Rodney said, “Lean down so that your face is close to his. He wants to do something.”

She looked questioningly at Rodney, and then back into the wide green eyes of John Sheppard. She bent her neck.

Teyla gasped when John pressed his forehead to hers, his purring loud in her ears. Instinctively, she reached out to clasp his shoulders, and ended up stroking his sides slowly. They remained there a moment, Teyla struggling with the unexpected sweetness of it. As long as she had known him, John Sheppard had never initiated this gesture.

She felt him wobble a little, balanced unevenly on her ankles and pulled away gently. “Thank you, John,” she whispered, wiping her eyes.

He blinked slowly at her, bent his head and wiggled his nose under her hand, affectionately teasing her into one last pat. She laughed, still shaken, more undone than Rodney had been by her words moments ago.

“That’s how cats greet others that they really, really like. Press foreheads.” Rodney gently bumped his fists together, miming the gesture.

“Truly?” Teyla asked, then laughed, her eyes threatening to fill again. “Then they are quite definitely my favorite creatures.”

"Mine, too," Rodney said softly, as he stood. “Come on Catsanova, let’s go before _I_ get all mushy.” He smiled shyly at Teyla and scooped John up, deftly giving him a boost to his shoulder.

“Mademoiselle,” he said, bowing slightly.

“Dr. McKay,” she replied formally, inclining her head. “Colonel Sheppard.”

"Mow," John said in clear farewell and resumed his loud purring.

Gracing her with one last shyly happy smile, Rodney departed, John riding his shoulders easily. She watched them go, head resting on her knees, a secret, delighted smile warming her through and through.


	11. Bonding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quotes in italics are translated from cat.

John decided to join Ronon for a run a little over a week into being a cat, and when the big man rounded the corner leading to their favorite route, he took one look at Sheppard and backed up against the wall.

“Sheppard,” he said calmly for a guy who looked a little wild-eyed and slightly paler than normal.

 _“Ronon?”_ John replied. He peered up at Ronon curiously. They really hadn’t been alone together since they’d had a little disagreement about John hiding in a bush on Gata, and while not quite completely avoiding him like Elizabeth and a couple of other people, this crap had to stop. They were on the same team, for crying out loud.

Ronon tapped his radio. “McKay?” He listened to Rodney’s reply, frowning sightly.

“Uh, no. Near one of our running trails. He’s…” Ronon’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Staring at me.”

Well, there was pretty much no choice but to stalk him after a remark like that, so he crouched down and started making threatening noises. Ronon looked down at him in some alarm (his eyebrows lifted slightly) and sidled a few steps away from John.

“No, I haven’t,” Ronon replied shortly into his radio. “But he sounds pretty angry.”

There was a long pause. “But,” Ronon said softly, “he’s a _cat_. How do I…? You know what?” he added decisively. “Never mind.”

He stared a John for a few long moments. “I. Hope. I. Did. Not. Startle. You,” Ronon said in a “placate the idiot child” voice.

 _Now_ , John was truly irritated. Come to think of it, Ronon had never apologized for the shrubbery incident, or stuffing him into a basket, or holding him so that his legs had dangled, unsupported. John, uncomfortable and still freaked out, had been forced to seek purchase with his back paws and not knowing how sharp his claws were, scratched Ronon’s stomach and chest up pretty badly and ripped his favorite shirt.

John totally knew that neither of them had been trying to hurt the other at the time, but now Ronon was just being an ass. An ass who’d chased him and grabbed him and dropped him and carried him in a basket and might have called him “not big enough for a snack.” Of course, he was trying to protect John at the time in a totally ham-handed and awkward way, but the snack comment was totally uncalled for, even if he had been talking about some Gatan carnivorous grizzly bear or something.

He added tail thumping to his angry noises repertoire.

Ronon backed quietly away from him. “See you, uh, later,” Ronon said to John in a steady, soothing voice.

John hissed at him and lunged, aiming for Ronon’s knees, with the vague notion of climbing him like a tree.

Ronon flinched in a completely satisfying way, broke and ran for the doors leading to the outside. John, yowling, followed hot on his heels.

He soon discovered that Ronon had totally been holding out on him; the guy was fast. Granted, his legs were of course, millions of miles longer than his at the moment, but still. Fast. Time to go into stealth mode.

He swerved, heading for the nearest doors inside, flew down an empty corridor and jumped into a transporter. He concentrated on his destination and dashed out at full speed when the doors opened. Heading for the nearest exit to the outside, he slowed to a trot, scaled a wall and sat in a nice patch of weak sunlight to enjoy the dawn breeze. It felt very nice, ruffling his fur. He thought lots of un-catlike thoughts about team building and retribution while he basked.

Ronon’s steady – and slower – footsteps came around the bend in the pathway about five minutes later. John was impressed. The speed of his arrival meant he must have sprinted a good part of the way here.

John stood and called to him. Ronon stopped about ten feet away, looking wary and sweaty. John smiled to himself, glad he’d picked this stretch of wall; he was almost perfectly eye-level with him.

“You…” Ronon observed wonderingly, his breath heavy and ragged. "You cheated."

It wasn't cheating, it was using a tactical advantage. John tried not to look smug and jumped down. He trotted a few paces and turned, looking over his shoulder. _“Well?”_ he asked.

Ronon peered at him from under his brows, having bent over to rest his hands on his knees. “You want me to follow you?”

 _"Yes."_ John said in _his_ idiot child voice. Ronon seemed to catch it and smiled in an embarrassed way, waving John on.

John trotted lightly about 200 feet and then stopped in front of a small alcove that offered a shaded bench and nice view of the sea. He’d rested here after several solo morning runs and didn’t think Ronon had done much exploring.

Behind the bench was a pedestal topped by a wide, shallow bowl. A vase-like vessel sat in the center of it. He hopped up on the bench, propped his paws on the wide lip of the sculpture and thought, “on.”

The pipes inside the fountain complained like Rodney on a cold morning when the coffee was late, but moments later, fresh water bubbled out of the center vase, spilling over the sides in a sweet-smelling fountain. The overflow didn’t quite reach the edge of the bowl. John wasn’t quite long enough to lean over and drink without losing his balance, so he settled back on his haunches and looked up at Ronon.

He blinked a few times at the fountain and at John, shrugged and dipped his hands into the water, splashing his face and neck and drinking deeply. Wiping the back of his mouth with his hand, he looked down questioningly.

“You having any?”

John put his paws on the lip of the bowl again, stretched forward as far as he could and gave it a shot. He couldn’t quite make it and essentially got a few laps of water vapor. He looked up at Ronon and sighed.

Tossing his dreads over his shoulder, Ronon gave him a funny, serious half-smile, cupped his hands and scooped up some water, holding it close enough to John that he could lap at it without straining. John drank three handfuls before looking up and licking his lips.

 _”Thanks,”_ he said sincerely, wishing he could add a manly, teammate-bonding-moment clap on the shoulder. He turned to the ocean and began washing his face, a little shaken by the sudden flare of embarrassment and sympathy in Ronon’s eyes.

Ronon sat beside him, his hands awkward and loose in his lap. “Sheppard, I…”

John looked over at him, meeting his eyes calmly. Ronon’s eyes slid away.

“I’m apologize. I was…” He cleared his throat. “We were, well. Didn’t know you could _understand._ I. If I hurt you, I…” He fell silent and breathed deeply.

John meditatively washed his ears and looked out at the sea. _“It’s okay,”_ he said finally. _”I understand.”_ He finished grooming and tucked his paws under his chest.

After a long, peaceful moment, Ronon observed, “Strange things happen to you, Sheppard. Never seen anything like it.”

 _”Yeah.”_ John replied with a certain amount of resignation. “ _And you should try figuring out one or two word answers for everything._ ” The last phrase sounded something like, “Mrrrrowowwrooooraaaagh.”

“ You complaining?”

 _”Yeah."_

Ronon snorted. “Spending too much time with McKay.”

John flattened his ears and growled. Ronon laughed. John rolled to his side and swatted him on the leg. Ronon reached forward and tentatively scruffled his ears and John continued to playfully bat at him, soft-pawed.

“Come on,” Ronon growled, digging his fingers into Sheppard’s belly, “You can do better than that.”

John let a hint of claws and teeth come into play, nipping at Ronon’s darting fingers. He captured his hand between all four paws and gnawed on him, his back paws clawlessly raking the underside of his arm. Ronon’s whole hand closed around his belly (except for the finger John was killing) and he wiggled John’s entire body back and forth.

A sudden flash of bloodlust hit John and he wanted to bite down, hard. He let go of Ronon and scrambled to his feet, retreating to the absolute end of the bench. He licked his paw nervously. Another cat instinct thing he’d have to watch.

 _“Sorry,”_ he said, mortified.

Ronon held his hand out silently. It was pale red in places from John’s claws and teeth, but no blood. He turned his arm over and showed John the other side, also lightly scratched, but they’d both had worse from tree branches or Chocolate Chip Cookie Day in the mess. Still, John turned away and looked out over the water.

He could hear Ronon get up, drink at the fountain again and do something to his chronometer to make it beep. “Want any?” He offered. John turned off the fountain in reply.

Ronon settled on his end of the bench and lay down, the top of his head nearly touching John’s side. Sheppard shifted, about to leap down and give him some more room, but he reached a hand around and touched his back gently. “Keep watch?”

Unreasonably pleased by the request, John arranged himself comfortably, nosing a few of Ronon’s dreads out of the way.

“No playing with the hair,” Ronon rumbled, his eyes closed.

John stared at them longingly until Ronon’s watch beeped, then trapped two fat dreads under his paws. He bit at the bead circling the end of one.

“Sheppard,” Ronon said warningly.

Giving the bead one last jerk, John jumped to Ronon’s chest and marched - planting his feet as heavily as possible - down his torso and leapt to the ground. He trod very deliberately on the approximate location of his friend’s bladder.

Ronon, sat up, reaching for him. John danced out of the way and down the path, glancing back after a few yards to see if Ronon would give chase. He tilted his head so the bead in his mouth would catch the light.

With a low roar, Ronon was up and chasing after him in a flash, and John really turned on the speed. He ran as fast as he could for the big, curving stretch of pathway that ran right beside the ocean and then split off into two branches and lots of doorways leading to (currently) unused living quarters. There was another series of walls marking off gathering spaces and alcoves. John placed the bead carefully right in the center of the path, then scampered up several levels.

Ronon trotted up the pathway and stopped, looking at the bead warily and glancing around, obviously thinking John was going to leap out at him. He was right.

He waited until Ronon crouched down to get the bead, then just as his shoulders were at the right height, leapt gracefully over, ducked under his dreads and lay as flat as possible, hanging on.

“Think so?” Ronon spun from side to side, making John a little seasick. He yowled in alarm and Ronon stopped, uncertain.

“Sheppard?”

 _”Home?”_ he asked queasily.

“You _attack_ me, steal my ornaments and then expect me to carry you?”

John purred loudly.

“Stupid,” Ronon said affectionately and rubbed his fur the wrong way.

John protested loudly, but he really didn’t mind. He dozed lightly as Ronon walked, strides steady and smooth, back to their part of the city. He woke up enough to register Rodney’s more asleep than awake pre-coffee bluster, and slid bonelessly off Ronon’s shoulders to the bed.

“What did you do to him? His hair doesn’t even stick up that much as a human.”

“He chased me. I chased him.”

“You were playing _tag_ with a cat a fraction of your size.” Rodney said flatly. John didn’t have to open his eyes to know that Rodney was frowning, his arms crossed, the very picture of condemnation.

“McKay. He _won_. Both times.”

John sighed with drowsy contentment.

“That would explain his smugness.”

Ronon snorted. “McKay. Sheppard,” he said in parting.

John couldn’t wake up enough to say much more than a simple “mhmph.” He uncurled luxuriously when Rodney’s big warm hand smoothed his fur back the right way, then tensed every muscle from toe to tail in one long, blissful stretch.

Rodney stroked his belly softly and John rolled to his back, turning into the touch.

“So you guys are all macho, chest-thumping friends again?”

“ _Yup._ ”

Rodney snorted softly. “Only you.”

John opened his eyes a crack and twisted slightly to look Rodney in the eye. “ _Hey,_ ” he said, and purred encouragingly.

Rodney sighed in a put-upon way. His martyred “very busy man” act was marred by the fact that he had pillow creases on his cheek and his hair was sticking straight up in the back.

“Just for a little while,” he grumped, and settled on the bed around him, fingers still curled in John’s fur.

Cranking his purr to eleven, John stretched one paw out, grazing the underside of Rodney’s chin. Rodney, eyes closed tightly, tried not to smile. John pawed at him until he grinned and tugged John against his chest.

“Sleeping now,” Rodney said firmly, trying to sound stern.

John sighed happily and did just that.


	12. The Difficulty of Letting Sleeping Cats Lie

It wasn’t like it was a compulsion or anything, but Rodney loved to touch John while he was sleeping, just to hear the funny little warning noise he made.

John was curled up on his lab table inside a box slightly too small for him, one leg draped elegantly over the side and paws covering his eyes. Rodney had dimmed the lights earlier when Radek left for the evening, but John was sleeping too soundly, he supposed, to notice.

He found the little hollow behind John’s ear and scratched lightly.

“mmmmr!”

The noise was not so much a meow as a closed-mouth trill, and required enough air for John’s stomach muscles to contract irritably. How he could express irritation with his abdomen was something of a mystery, but every cat Rodney had ever known could do the same thing.

He tinkered with his computer for a bit, really just winding down for the day, then glanced back over at his sleeping companion.

John was a fantastic cat. Rodney hated to even think of him as the best cat he’d ever had, because, hello, best friend in cat form. He tried to keep that firmly in mind when dealing with John - that one day he’d be human again – but it was difficult, especially when he looked like this. He wasn’t sure if John was cat-like or cat John was human-like, because well, there was some blurring there, but John in this form wasn’t all _that_ different.

More playful, surely. Still preferred to spend most of his time with his team, but was friendly yet slightly reserved with everyone else. Far more affectionate to his friends and a little bit more openly neurotic, which pleased Rodney no end. But nothing that wasn’t already present; just much closer to the surface.

Sheppard seemed pretty happy, most of the time, once they all accepted they’d have to wait out the month, and he and Elizabeth had come to some sort of understanding. His, no, _human_ John carried a lot more tension, everyday. He hid it well most of the time, but Rodney knew. He carried many of the same worries.

They didn’t exactly talk about it, but there were moments, when John let him see the pressure he was under, a shared look, a small sigh or a momentary relaxation of that goofball surfer-boy persona. Rodney might be bad at most people stuff, but he noticed, and more importantly, John let him notice. Not many people got that chance.

Once, crouching in a dank corridor, bullets flying all around them, John had pressed his forehead briefly against the back of Rodney’s shoulder, just for a second, inhaled deeply, turned, and broke cover to engage the shooter. It had been humbling to be given that tiny admission of fear and friendship. It was the kind of trust John was showing him every day as a cat.

John shifted, one paw slipping away from his face. Rodney very gently stroked his exposed cheek ruff, his fur as rich as sandwashed silk. He wondered if John’s hair was this soft.

“mmmmmrt!” John’s stomach was slightly more indignant this time. Rodney smiled. He stroked John’s cheek and neck more firmly.

“brrrrrrt!” John’s head popped up, glaring. He was hilariously sleep disfigured, the fur on his head and the back of his neck all ruffled up by the too-small box.

“It's weird,” Rodney blurted by way of apology, smoothing down the ruffled fur. “I miss you, but in some ways...” He blushed. He hadn’t meant to be quite that candid. "It's going to be even weirder when you change back," he admitted.

John blinked slowly and stretched a paw out to him. Rodney brushed the pads with his finger and John deliberately pressed down, making the contact stronger.

“Yeah,” Rodney replied, gently catching the paw with his thumb and shaking it a little. John batted at him lazily. “I do realize how ridiculous that sounds.”

John yawned and stretched. Rodney heroically did not dive for his exposed and entirely pettable belly. He did have _some_ restraint. And John didn’t like being surprised while he was stretching. He still had the scratches to prove it.

Rising gracefully, John padded over and did a full body lean into Rodney’s shoulder. “Mow?”

“Ready to go home?”

John butted him softly and purred before leaping to the floor. He trotted a few feet and turned, looking over his shoulder. “Prrt?”

“Yes, yes, Mr. Impatient. Don’t think I don’t know you’re rushing to my quarters to rifle through our foodstuffs.” He shut his computer off and walked away without a second glance.

“Maaaar!” John complained, standing in the open doorway.

“Coming, I’m coming,” he groused, because that particular Sheppardian whine was always followed by grousing. It was what they did. He savored the weird, mixed up, happy deja-vu of Sheppard impatiently calling for him to catch up.

That was one thing that hadn’t changed; he'd still follow John pretty much anywhere.


	13. The Soft Underbelly of Co-habitation

John was still relaxing on Rodney’s desk in his bunny-slipper bed long after Rodney had closed his computer and started his pre-bedtime puttering. (This included stomping around in his bathrobe, reading journal articles and furiously writing corrections in the margins, which he claimed relaxed him, and playing solitaire.)

Rodney was sitting on the bed grumbling over an article that was just wrong, wrong, wrong when John looked over his shoulder at Rodney and said, “Brrr?” He leaned back a little, one paw propped on the edge of the bunny bed. He looked expectant.

“What?” Rodney asked absently.

“Brrrrrrrrr?” John replied, arching his back a little and spreading the toes on his exposed paw. He managed to make himself look fluffy and more pettable. Rodney had no idea how he did that.

He leveled a flat look on John. “Are you too lazy to get up and come over here if you want me to scratch your ears?”

“Brrrrrr,” John trilled pleasantly, stretching and rolling a little to show his belly.

Rodney rolled his eyes. “You have got to be the biggest flirt I have ever seen. You’re even worse as a cat.”

John had rolled enough that he was looking at Rodney upside down; his front paws dangling limply on his chest. He stretched one toward Rodney silently.

Rodney stared at him a moment, then firmly went back to his journal. John sighed.

A few minutes later, he stretched both front paws, spreading his toes wide. Rodney watched him from under his lashes.

Grumbling, John let his paws sag and closed his eyes, giving up.

About five minutes later, Rodney went to brush his teeth, then strolled by his desk, his hands firmly in his robe pockets.

“I’m going to turn in. You staying over here?”

John rolled, yawned, and stretched everything, including his ears. He looked up at Rodney sleepily. “Brrr?” he asked softly.

“So pushy,” Rodney said affectionately, sitting down in his chair to stroke John’s belly. He made a detour up to stroke under his chin and John tilted his head back ecstatically, purring loudly.

Rodney petted John for a few quiet moments then leaned over and blew a raspberry on his tummy. John scrambled up and away in a flash, and stood behind his cat tree, looking scandalized and quivering slightly.

Barking out a short, embarrassed laugh, Rodney said, “I’m sorry. I forgot. I used to do that to my cat all the time. She liked it.”

“Mrowr!” John said, firmly reminding him he was _not_ just a cat.

Rodney raised his hands, “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

John sat and licked his paw a few times, then looked at Rodney dubiously.

Slapping his thighs, Rodney stood. “Sleeping, now.” He shed his robe and climbed into bed while John hovered uncertainly by the cat tree. Rodney thought the lights off and lay back, glaring at the ceiling.

“I swear I can hear you pouting,” Rodney rolled to his side, exasperated.

A moment later, he could hear John pad across the carpet. Looking over the side of his bed, Rodney could see him sitting sadly on the floor, looking back.

“I promise I will not violate your belly.” He scooted over to make room.

John leapt up and settled close, his head next to Rodney’s. He looked subdued and uncertain.

“You want to tell me what’s going on?”

After looking at him a long, long moment, John rolled on his back and arched shyly, presenting his belly.

Rodney laid his head on his arm and laughed, reaching out with one hand to palm John’s stomach. He shook him gently back and forth as John purred.

“Seriously, were you traumatized by a belly berry as a child?”

“Brrr,” John replied, slightly irritated. He arched again.

Smiling, Rodney leaned over and blew a long, loud raspberry on John’s belly, as John swatted him with soft front paws. They fell asleep with John curled around Rodney’s head, whose nose remained buried in his soft fur.


	14. Checkmate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The fic that started it all!

“Colonel Sheppard,” Radek said formally, “You must stop. This backseat playing is unbecoming. And a pain in my ass.”

John looked up impassively at the mention of his name, stared at Radek unblinkingly, then went back to his contemplation of the chessboard.

“What’s he doing?” Rodney said irritably. “He’s just sitting there.”

“Yes, and every time I make a move he deems unworthy he….” Radek waved his hand vaguely.

John was ignoring the exchange, his eyes slitted.

“He what?”

“You have not noticed the twitching?”

“Playing a game here!”

“Very well, “ Radek sighed, reaching out. He could see Sheppard tense in his peripheral vision, shoved his hands into his hair and let out an explosive breath. “I have not even touched piece!” he cried, frazzled.

John stared at him, hard, then pointedly looked down at the board. Radek followed his example for a few long moments, inhaled sharply and reached out to move an - admittedly - entirely different piece.

Rodney squawked. “You’ve got to be _kidding_ me!!”

“Is valid move, Rodney.”

John reached out and with one careful paw, knocked over Rodney’s king.

“Check, and thanks to Sheppard, also mate.” Radek very carefully did not look over to the cat for confirmation. It would not do to make him purr any louder. “Though I suspect that the Colonel has been dying to knock over a piece for some time.”

Sheppard’s tail swished angrily twice. Radek smiled to himself and rolled one of his pawns absently. It clacked attractively against the tabletop. John’s ears twitched violently and he flopped down casually to lick a paw. Radek rolled the pawn across the table. Sheppard stopped mid-lick to follow it with his eyes.

Rodney looked at the board in shock. “You! But! _Dammit!_ ” He slumped, head in hands, gazing at the horror.

John delicately pawed the ivory pawn a few times, making it roll around the table.

Rodney, still contemplating the board, shot out a hand and picked it up, earning a soft pawed swipe from his team leader.

“Shall I get you a nice mousie, you horrible cheater?”

John flowed to his feet and stalked across to Rodney, moving into his personal space and head-butting him in the chest.

“Oh, yes, let’s try and be friends now,” Rodney huffed, even as he stroked down John’s sleek back, then rubbed his ears. John thrust his head joyfully up into Rodney’s hand, purring loudly.

“Yes,” Rodney said affectionately, “You are an awful, awful cheater.” He continued to pet Sheppard, who flopped over to have his belly rubbed, purring like a small, happy engine. “Awful, awful, awful.” Sheppard batted and snapped at his fingers playfully.

“I shall leave you two to hash this out,” Radek said dryly.

“Oh no,” Rodney said, still crooning to the cat, but with a thread of iron in his voice. “You’re going to stay and play us this time,” he dropped the croon. “Right, Radek?”

Sheppard stretched out a paw and sent the white pawn spinning to the other side of the table.

Radek shoved his glasses up his nose and glared at the two of them. “You are _both_ huge pain in my ass.”


	15. Special Delivery

When Rodney stomps back from his meeting, John is curled up in his box on Rodney’s desk, languorously washing his foot.

“Doesn’t that ever creep you out? Licking your self?”

John looks up at him, paw still curled, his gaze flat and direct.

“I didn’t mean like _that_.”

Twitching an ear, John goes back to work, chewing on a paw pad.

They work silently, separately, for a long moment until Rodney freezes. “Do you smell something?”

John gives him an indulgent look that screams, _”Of course I smell something, I’m a_ cat.” He smacks his lips slightly before starting to wash his ear.

Rodney narrows his eyes, suspicious. He leans forward and sniffs John’s neck, causing John to pull back dramatically.

“Brrrr!” he scolds.

 _”You smell like bacon,”_ Rodney hisses.

John doesn’t bother to meet his eyes, but continues to carefully wash the back of his ear.

“You’ve been flirting with people in the mess again, haven’t you?”

John trills pleasantly and rolls to show Rodney his belly, giving Rodney his most charming upside-down smile.

“Oh, don’t even. You don’t _even_ get to do that. You knew I was in a meeting! And we always get more food if you go with –“

John yawns in his face and curls up.

Fine,”Rodney grumbles. “Some thanks I get. Waiting on you hand and foot.”

Another yawn, ending in a squeak, and John’s paw dangles over the edge of the box, right near Rodney’s fingers. Frowning, Rodney concentrates on his computer.

“McKay,” Ronon says dryly, as he strolls into Rodney’s lab. He tosses a paper-wrapped packet on the table.

“What?”

Pointing a finger at the packet, Ronon explains, “Sandwich.”

“Uh, thanks,” Rodney replies. “You’re even more laconic than usual today.” He peers at his team mate. “What happened to you? The last time you looked like that was when you tried to…” Light dawning, he turns to give Sheppard an astonished glance.

“It’s nothing,” Ronon says firmly, waving one scratched-up arm dismissively. Both arms and hands are covered in little red scratches, and some of Ronon’s dreads look kind of…chewed. One is sticking out at a right angle, something Rodney has never seen before. “Training accident.”

“Ah. Thanks for the sandwich?” Rodney opens it and gasps. Canadian Bacon.

“Don’t mention it,” Ronon demurs, backing out of the room. “Really. Don’t.”

Rodney nods and waves, already digging in.

He turns to John, chewing blissfully. “Fanks,” he says around his mouthful. He reaches out to brush his fingertip under John’s dangling paw.

John spreads his toes, smiles contentedly and curls up in his box.


	16. Lassie Takes Timmy To The Shrink

Kate Heightmeyer was typing up some notes when John Sheppard ran in her door and jumped on her desk, his red ball held firmly in his mouth.

“Rrrow!” he said as he dropped it. “Rrrrow, rrrow!”

“John?” What’s wrong? You seem very agitated.”

He jumped off her desk and stood in the doorway. “Prrrrt?”

“Do you want me to come with you?” She paused and put her hand over her mouth, covering an involuntary smile.

“Mowr!” John half-growled at her.

“I’m so sorry. I understand there’s a problem. It’s just…” She tried to stifle the involuntary giggles. “It’s not little Timmy is it?”

“Mow!”

Her giggles dried right up. “It _is_?”

John fluffed out his fur and ran a few steps into the hallway and back. “Mrrowr!” He sounded very frustrated.

“You want me to come.”

He jumped back on the desk. “Nooowr!” He picked up the ball, then dropped it and put his paw on it, firmly.

“You want me to stay here.”

John went briefly limp with relief. Leaping down, he quickly brushed against her legs, purring, and then hurried back to the doorway. He turned to check on her one last time, as if to make sure she was going to stay.

“I’ll stay. I’ll be right here.”

“Prrt.” John said approvingly and ran, seriously _ran_ to the transporter.

Kate peered down the hallway after him.

“Mowr!”

Busted. He’d looked back as he waited for the transporter to open. “I’m just worried!” she called. She ducked back into her office and left the door open.

She looked at the ball on her desk thoughtfully, and picked it up with a tissue. She blotted it dry and frowned, thinking about what might have led John to bring it here. She put it in her drawer and sat down. Shaking her head, she removed it and put it just behind the chair she sat in for clients. Sitting back at her desk, she watched the ball as if it might tell her something.

She waited. About fifteen minutes after John’s arrival, she heard a male voice in the hallway.

“Where you takin’ me, Colonel?”

Kate leaned slightly to the left so she had a partial view of the hallway. A big, strapping Marine, Jason Harris, an ATA carrier just barely 20, was trying not to step on the frisking Colonel, who was running circles around his legs. He was one of the men who’d come on the _Daedelus_ a few weeks ago.

“You wanna go over here? What?” There was laughter in the young man’s voice, but his shoulders drooped and he had, what Kate knew, were chapped places under his eyes. Those kind of abrasions on the delicate skin of the eye were from crying and rough Kleenex.

As soon as he looked up, he’d see her, so Kate got up and walked to her doorway.

“Hi,” she said, “Colonel. And Private Harris?”

The young man startled. “Uh, yes ma’am." His eyes darted to the nameplate beside her door. “Dr. Heightmeyer?” He frowned. “Colonel,” he said in a deeply aggrieved tone, “what are you doin'?”

“I suspect,” Kate said, smiling down at John, “That you’re his pockets today.”

“Mowr!” John whined.

“I’m sorry, ma’am?”

“Come on in,” she said, shaking her head affectionately. “I think he wants you to carry something for him. Let me see if I can find it.” She rummaged in her desk while John crouched on it, pawing intently at the closed drawers.

Harris sidled in like one of them was going to bite him. “I’m sorry to disturb you, doctor,” he babbled. “The Colonel and I were hanging out this morning – you know he still jogs? Well, he and Ronon showed me this real nice route and then we got to talking, or well maybe….hey, sir, is that what you wanted?”

The young man walked over to the ball and picked it up. It jingled, and John’s entire body went taut with excitement.

Harris beamed. “This what you wanted, Colonel?”

John hunkered down on Kate’s desk, ready to pounce. He wiggled his hindquarters in anticipation.

“A cat that wants to fetch? You gotta be kidding me,” he laughed.

“Try it. He loves football.”

“Oh yeah? Then go long, sir.”

John leapt, ran and turned and caught the ball neatly, and brought it proudly back to Harris, who thumped him gently on the head.

“Oh lord, I almost said ‘good boy.’”

John dropped, rolled and kicked Harris in the ankle. Harris patted his side gently, chuckling.

“He’s taken a real interest in you, Private Harris,” Kate said. “He doesn’t show many people his playful side. You understand. Even in his condition.”

“Wouldn’t be professional, I guess.” Harris mused, absently sitting on Kate’s couch as he tossed the ball for John to run after. “Though that’s gotta suck if he wants to run and play and all. I mean, he should be able to enjoy it.”

“I agree.”

John ran and jumped and caught the ball over and over for Harris while the young man sank deeper into thought.

“I mean,” he said haltingly, “it’s kinda this once in a lifetime opportunity, you know?” His voice cracked.

“But there are a lot of adjustments to make,” Kate said gently. “And things aren’t quite the same.”

Harris bent his head over his hands, the ball held tightly between them. “It kinda looks the same, but it’s really not.” His voice was thick with emotion. “It’s just a hellova lot to take in.”

John twined around his ankles, pressing against him for support. He purred. Kate slipped quietly into her chair.

“You’re the sneakiest cat I ever met, sir.” Harris smiled through his tears. “Getting me to come unload on the doc, here.”

Purring louder, John butted his head against Harris’ knee.

“I’m happy to listen if you want to talk, Jason.”

Harris looked up at her and grinned a lopsided grin. “Well, ma’am, I’m here,” he shrugged. “Besides, my commanding officer made me come.”


	17. Crazy Cat, part 1

Rodney thought that since John was, well, _originally human_ , he might avoid the whole “crazy cat” thing, but he was so, so wrong.

It started with making the bed. Rodney was minding his own business, changing the sheets after an unfortunate Sharpie incident that had freaked John out. It was kind of understandable, since John had one of his flailing, yowling nightmares and the Sharpie – red, of course – had gotten tangled up in the sheets, leaving streaks of red everywhere.

John had glanced down at the sheet the next morning and immediately pinned Rodney to the bed and prowled all over him, checking over for scratches or gouges, which was actually kind of nice, and wouldn’t hear a word about it being anything other than blood.

When Rodney pointed out that a) his blood would have oxidized long before and wouldn’t be _bright red_ and b) would John just please use his nose? (Rodney had to pee.) John gave him a long, indescribable look and vaulted off his chest, back claws digging into his skin and went to sulk on the porch.

“Okay now? There’s blood.” Rodney shouted after him, clutching his chest.

(Rodney found out much, much later that John couldn’t really “see” red as a cat and glowed retroactively over John’s fussing.)

After disinfecting his wound, taking a shower and getting dressed, Rodney glanced out of the corner of his eye at John (still sulking) and got some clean sheets and a blanket out. As he was shaking the wrinkles out of the top sheet, a black streak slid across the bed and trapped a fold of the sheet in his paws.

“Aowr,” John squeaked, as if bravely facing off against a larger foe, and pounced, rolling and fighting the sheet.

Rodney smiled and fluffed the sheet again, just catching the excited look on John’s face as it arched above him. The second it touched John’s body, he became a flailing ball of limbs, squeaking and moving at a frantic, lightening pace.

He stopped abruptly, one leg up in threat, three claws piercing the sheet. He seemed to expect something.

Rodney had his hand halfway out to poke at John’s belly to trigger another flail and stopped himself. “Hey, no ripping,” Rodney scolded. “Only fun until someone loses the last clean sheets.”

“Aeew,” John said meekly, continuing to play Seemingly Helpless Yet Courageously Fighting Sheet Victim. But, his claws retracted and John rearranged himself into a demure, paws-under-chest position. Rodney knew this because the little black shadow under his sheet turned into a breadloaf with a head.

Unable to stop himself, Rodney peeked under the sheet. “You okay under there?”

John looked at him like he was crazy, and _Please stop harshing my sheet buzz._

“I’m not the one having epic battles with bed linens.”

John crawled on his belly toward Rodney. He put one paw out toward Rodney’s hand, batted it softly and looked up at him with big, dilated kitty-eyes.

“Easy with the claws,” Rodney warned, and fluffed the sheet again.

It _was_ an epic battle. John fought the Hand of Death valiantly through the Evil Sheet as Rodney scratched and poked and prodded him through it, creating small tunnels in the sheet for John to burrow through, and wadding up extra bits of it for him to bite and kick as Rodney fought back. Finally, his back was starting to hurt and John flopped over on his side, his faintly twitching tail the only movement visible under the sheet, though Rodney imagined the volume of his purr was making the sheet vibrate a little.

“You gonna take a nap?” Rodney asked, leaning back to stretch his lumbar spine.

“Mow.” John stretched out even further.

“Want to come out?”

John slapped his tail on the bed.

“Suit yourself. Mind if I put the blanket on?”

“Maa.” John didn’t budge.

Rodney straightened the sheet, shook out the blanket and changed the pillowcase. He mostly tucked in the covers and poked the lump of John.

“Hey,” he said quietly, “just go straight when you want to get out.”

The lump of John purred loudly and leaned toward his hand. Rodney patted his back.

“Moron.”

About two hours later, John showed up in the lab, his fur a little ruffled. He hopped up to his customary spot on Rodney’s desk, gave him a satisfied smile, curled up in his box and went back to napping.

“You know,” Rodney said very softly, “I always thought Ronon was the caveman.”

“Brrrt!” John replied, not opening his eyes, his belly contracting indignantly. Rodney snorted.

~~~

John got bored very easily, which Rodney knew, but once John was out of _Golf_ magazines and the other dreck he read (or once he got too impatient about the whole page turning thing and shredded the magazine into tiny pieces in a thumbless, vindictive fury), he came after Rodney.

Rodney would point him to his overflowing box of cat toys. Sometimes John would stoop to playing by himself, but he much preferred Rodney or his red ball over all the crinkly, shiny, feathery things that people had made for him, and Rodney absolutely refused to have it in the room.

“Not to sound like Quasimodo, here, but ‘The bells! The bells!’” he moaned, wringing his hands and going for melodramatic overkill.

John slapped his tail and flicked his ears _and_ tried his puppy dog/Little Match Girl eyes, but Rodney wasn’t having any of it. He gave Rodney one last long, sorrowful look, carried each toy back to the basket in his mouth (he had a rough time with the feather-dustery thing) then sat in the very center of Rodney’s floor like a small, black, ground-hugging thundercloud. He turned his back pointedly when Rodney crawled into bed.

“John.”

No response.

“Look, it’s an arrhythmic, irritating noise that is also repetitive when you play with it. It...it just…it’s why I fix things, you know? Because they sound _off_. It’s really distracting and this is _my room_ , where I attempt to relax. So there, I explained it, so would you please stop being an ass and come to bed?”

John silently padded over to the bed, jumped up and bumped his head against Rodney’s ribs in apology.

“I could make you a ball that didn’t ring. Maybe put some merryweed in it?”

John butted him again and rolled gracefully, fitting himself against Rodney’s side.   
“Maaawr,” he drawled, his eyes alight with humor.

“Fun for everyone!” Rodney exclaimed softly, adding gentle jazz hands. John batted a paw at him and purred.

“We okay?”

John cranked his purr louder and rested his head on Rodney’s chest. He looked directly into Rodney’s eyes and blinked slowly.

Rodney stroked his head and back gently. “Good.”


	18. Crazy Cat, part 2

Rodney can hardly believe his eyes. Or his ears, but....

Bantos sticks and towels are scattered everywhere, and Ronon is standing in the middle of the floor, John hanging off one of his arms like a tree sloth, biting at Ronon's arm band/brace thingy, while Ronon is giggling. _Giggling._ He tries to smother his laughter when Rodney looks in, but it's hard going.

John glances at Rodney, eyes crazy crazy crazy with mischief, then with a yowl, renews his attack on Ronon's wrist. Ronon, looking a little crazy around the eyes himself, slowly moves his arm back and forth, causing John to swing gently. He makes threatening noises around his mouthful of leather and Ronon starts snickering again, and the more Ronon laughs, the more outrageous sounds and crazy faces John makes.

Ronon's laughter turns into guffaws, and he has to lean over and rest his free hand on his knee. John scrambles up Ronon's arm to his shoulders and starts tugging hard on a dread. Ronon crashes to his knees and then all fours, keening with laughter. John makes a particularly vicious yank and Ronon slaps the floor and manages to grit out, "Second father, m-male relative..."

"Uncle," Rodney offers.

 _"Uncle!"_

John ceases immediately and clambers over to perch on top of Ronon's head, satisfaction radiating from every whisker.

"I want to say 'pick on somebody your own size,' but I can't figure out which one of you needs it the most."

Ronon, still faceplanted on the floor, raises a hand and points at his head and John on it. John sets his teeth around Ronon's finger and growls. Ronon's shoulders start to shake again and he slowly starts to pull his hand away, then darts forward, obviously trying for a blind grab. John has the hand trapped atop Ronon's head in a flash. He sits on it. He makes a noise that puts the hairs up on Rodney's neck, but it somehow manages to crack Ronon up even more. He beats his free fist against the floor, voice gone all high-pitched and breathless.

John looks up at Rodney, ears twitching, so happy.

"So, you're gonna be awhile?"

"Marrrp!" John chirps.

"Okey-dokey," Rodney replies lightly. "Try to leave him in one piece."


	19. Unthinking, or The Soft Belly of Co-habitation, A Second Incident

Rodney was nearly wound-down enough to sleep, reading a magazine and idly stroking John's back. John yawned and stretched one paw luxuriously over the edge of the bed, squeaking at the apex of his yawn. Undone with affection, Rodney wrapped his arm around the relaxed cat to roll him closer and palm his warm, fuzzy belly.

'S good kitty," he mumbled fondly, ruffling John's fur.

John vaulted off the bed. He was not very careful with his claws.

"Ow! What was that all abou-?" Rodney re-ran the last few seconds. " _Oh_. Oh, John, I'm really sorry." He raised the lights slightly to see where the cat, _his friend_ temporarily _indisposed_ as a cat, had gone.

Across the room atop Rodney's desk, John was primly curling himself into his bunnybed. He very pointedly did not respond.

"I was half-asleep."

John's tail twitched above the edge of the fake-fur bed. He closed his eyes and made every indication he was staying the night.

"Seriously. I apologize. I absolutely do not think of you that way."

John burrowed more deeply into his bed.

"Come on. I apologized. You know I can't..."

The silence was very. pointed.

"Look, hey. If you come back, you can, you know. Do that thing. The one that I,uh, hate? A full minute."

John opened his eyes and stared calmly.

Rodney threw up his hands in surrender. "Fine, as long as you want. Just. I'm sorry. I totally wasn't thinking. At all. Mostly asleep. Won't happen again."

They looked at one another for a few long moments, Rodney squirming under John's heavy stare. Finally, sighing heavily, Rodney flopped back onto the bed and dimmed the lights.

"I don't know what more you want me to say," he said into the darkness. "It was completely unconscious...I guess I was thinking about Schrodinger, which is stupid, because he's in a completely different galaxy and I haven't seen him for _years._ And never do expect to see him again, I guess. I mean, I gave him to Jamie, my neighbor, last time I was on Earth. After the SGC said I could absolutely not bring him home."

The silence may have become slightly less icy. Rodney was never very good at reading these things.

"I mean, I do realize. Rabbits in Austraila and kudzu and all that sort of thing. Even if I promised never to take him out of the city. And, you know, he was fixed, so it's not like..." He fretted drowsily for a few minutes.

"It's totally weird because you're nothing like him. Except for the whole..." he waved one hand, "cat thing, which I know...I _know_. Anyway, John. M'sorry."

John didn't reply, and Rodney sighed. "'Night," he said softly, resigned.

He was almost asleep when John nudged his hip with his head.

"Hey. Um, you gonna?" he asked, gesturing to his stomach. John had every right to knead his belly - with claws out - as long as he liked.

John nudged his hip again. Rodney frowned and held out his arm, making the usual space for John at his side. John padded into place.

"We okay?" Rodney whispered. John headbutted him in the ribs, looked him in the eye, and headbutted him again. He purred loudly.

Rodney had another one of those helpless waves of affection. "Thanks," he said softly.

John settled down, snuffling and totally relaxed, into Rodney's neck.

For a moment, Rodney thought he felt a gentle, tentative lick pressed just behind his ear, but he couldn't quite hold onto the thought as he fell, forgiven, into sleep.


	20. Body Language: Standoff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> John doesn't have to speak to get his point across. Actually, none of them do. (Set around day 20)

Rodney glanced up at the shadow falling across his keyboard and rolled his eyes. John flicked his ears in agreement and studiously avoided looking up at Ronon’s hand, which was hovering over his head, fingers flexing in a taunting manner.

Rodney tilted his head and raised his eyebrows. John shut his eyes tightly. Ronon’s hand remained where it was. Rodney moved his coffee to the other side of his laptop.

Slowly lowering one finger, Ronon poked John, once, in the head. John hunched, muscles under his skin twitching in exasperation. Ronon began another slow descent, finger extended. In the blink of an eye, John ducked under the questing hand, rolled, and stole the last sausage off Ronon's plate.

He dropped the sausage, planted one foot on it, bent his head and licked it. He finished this display with a death glare. Ronon glared back, picked up his knife and fork, twiddled his thumbs ostentatiously and began cutting up his melon and stuffing it in his mouth.

Rodney pointed to the hashed tubers stuck on John’s paw. John licked at it, made a face, licked at it again. He held out his paw toward Rodney to wipe off, glared at Ronon and gave Rodney a grateful glance when his paw was clean. Rodney pointed at John’s sausage with his knife, fork poised, ready to cut. John bit off a chunk and chewed it energetically, little bits of sausage falling from his mouth to the table.

Ronon scowled and cut his melon, his toast, his eggs, and his tubers, letting the cutlery clink loudly on his plate. He made a neat pile of food on his fork, speared it, dangled it elegantly between thumb and forefinger right in front of John’s nose, then popped it in his mouth. John took another messy, glaring bite of his sausage and smacked his lips loudly.

Rodney covered his eyes with his hand and sighed.


	21. Bad Days

There are days that are not so great. It’s not really a surprise, given where they live, the enemies they face and, well, that John is another species at the moment.

He tries not to worry anyone if he’s feeling extra frustration. There are plenty of little everyday frustrations of things he can’t do: cut his own food, _get_ his own food, take a shower, argue with Rodney about Batman, use his computer. Spar. Shoot. Talk. Fly.

John’s friends help him with all those things as much as they can, but sometimes…

Of course, there are trade-offs that mitigate the loss. His ability to jump is completely awesome. He and Teyla attempted catching the Frisbee, but it was too thick for his mouth and really too big for him to carry, so they stick to their bell ball game.

When he’s not using jumping for basic locomotion in a city that’s way too big for him, (getting the right spot on the transporter map is tricky) he uses it to scare the crap out of people, which never gets old. It’s especially fun to see Ronon jump. He just has to keep in mind he’ll still be sparring with Ronon when it’s all over.

Hanging out with Rodney whenever he wants is really cool. Same with falling asleep in meetings, though he does try to keep that to a minimum.

Getting Zelenka and his team out when they were trapped down in a lower-level lab was an adventure John was proud of, since he came up with the core idea for the rescue. No one was hurt _too_ badly, but the trick was going to be getting a team into the area to rewire – or more likely – blow the door.

He listened to Rodney try to figure out what was going on and what was needed with the combat engineers, without leaving the trapped team down there too long. When ‘too long’ had passed five minutes ago, he took off at top speed for their quarters.

When he rolled back into the lab atop the skateboard, everyone turned and stared at him, wide eyed. He hopped off the skateboard and went around one end to nose it forward.

Rodney got it right away. “I _hate_ that idea. Yes, you’re small enough to navigate but,” he counted off on his fingers, ‘ No protection other than your fur, no light, and too dangerous. And what about corners?”

“Maybe if he drags it far enough in, he can carry tools to Radek in his mouth?” Dr. Simpson ventured.

“What about air ducts?” Sgt. Gillespie asked. “From what we can tell, there’s no structural damage outside this lab and the one on the southwest side of it. The Colonel could take an easy stroll over to the lab from right over here.” She pointed to a place on the map well away from the damaged section, but close enough that it wouldn’t be too much of a stretch for him to walk pushing a load of supplies.”

Rodney looked at John and patted the top of his lab table. John leapt up.

“I want you to listen to this,” he said, sitting down and reaching a hand to his ear. John stood on his hind legs and draped himself over Rodney’s shoulder to press his cheek next to Rodney’s ear.

“Radek?” Rodney keyed his radio. “Is the air vent in your area blocked off?”

“We are breathing well, Rodney.” Despite his words, Radek sounded tired and a little wheezy.

“Not what I asked you. Is the air vent accessible?”

“Yes, but,” Radek sounded confused. “Not even Miko could fit into such a small space. Perhaps we should look for shrink ray?”

“Just get the cover off the end of the vent and sit tight. McKay out.”

John sat down on the lab table and looked at Rodney expectantly. Rodney heaved a heavy sigh. “I don’t like it, but it’s the best idea we have.”

John tried to contain his excitement, but some must have leaked out, because Rodney gave him a dirty look and reached into one of his drawers. “There’s one condition, though,” he said, deadly serious. He placed a strangely trimmed half-sphere with a strap attached on the table.

John looked up at Rodney, incredulous.

“You’re not going into a partially collapsed area without some protection. It’s the helmet or we figure out something else. Maybe the controlled demolition Gillespie suggested.”

The demo would take hours, and airflow or not, one of the science team had a broken arm and they didn’t have much water to share. John looked down at the little helmet, carved out of some sort of hard foam. Rodney had painted it black and made little holes for his ears. It wasn’t bad, really.

He was going to look so ridiculous.

“I can rig up a light to put on the front,” Rodney offered.

Batting the strap with one paw, John replied, “ _Fine. No pictures_ ”

~*~*~*~*~

John consults with Jensen and Ackles every once in awhile, an intellectual situation that never would have happened if he hadn’t been riding around on Rodney’s shoulders doing rounds. The guys set up a large Zen garden thing for him to write in, using his paw to make his corrections, and somehow, it gets around that he’s an excellent proofreader.

“Um, Colonel Sheppard?,” Miko asks shyly one morning while John and Ronon are sharing some pancakes and sausage, “I would be honored if you would visit our lab today and take a look at the calculations for project I am working on with Dr. Simpson.”

_”Huh?”_ John asks, perplexed.

Miko gives Ronon what passes in her world as a defiant glare and bends down to look earnestly at John. “It is my understanding, from…friends of mine…that you are more than proficient in higher mathematics and – she clears her throat nervously – “we would very much like you to review our calculations for proposed ‘jumper upgrades before we hand the proposal off to Dr. Zelenka and Dr. McKay.”

John blinks in astonishment a few times and then walks over to Miko and sits in front of her. _“Sure,”_ he agrees in the most pleasant voice he can muster.

“Thank you very kindly, Colonel. Perhaps around 1100?”

_“Okay.”_

As Miko bows her way off, John looks back at Ronon. _”Can you believe that?_ ” he asks.

“Your life is so strange, Sheppard,” Ronon muses, as he shoves two pancakes into his mouth. “Hey,” he adds moistly, “I hear she and Simpson hoard the good chocolate. Think you can get some?”

John steals the last sausage in reply.

~*~*~*~*~

Lorne and Ronon had an idea for a company-wide base drill – not really formal, more of a game to blow off some steam – but it’s also kind of a sneaky way to learn the city for the new guys. They had come to him, worried that he might be offended, but once they laid out the plan for him, he couldn’t _wait_ to throw himself into it. Literally: the opening salvo was Ronon tossing him into a poker game to steal the hat of the prosperity god that presided over all military games of chance. The hat’s where they put the money.

John sailed over several heads, landed heavily, scattering cards and bet markers everywhere,. Once he had everyone’s attention, he let let out a bloodcurdling yowl, stole the hat, used Sgt. Hawkins as a launch pad, pushed off the north wall and was out the door before any soldier – Marine or Air Force - had time to do more than shout in dismay.

It took the marines five hours to catch him inside their own city. (Night vision without goggles is so cool.)

“Sir,” Hawkins grumbled good-naturedly afterwards, as he rubbed the scratches on his scalp, “if you wanted into the game you coulda just said so.”

John sprawled in the middle of the mess table and yawned as if to say that playing cards was so previous species.

~*~*~*~*~

The decisions to include him seem quite genuine; no one’s making busywork for him and he’s actually _doing_ something, helping in little ways that make things easier for his people.

It feels good. But he misses doing his real job. He knows it’s only temporary, that in a way this is just a more-bizarre-than-usual medical stand-down. But it’s not. It’s so, so not.

John misses flying like he lost a limb, especially when he can’t use any of those skills to pull his people out of a hot situation.

It’s not like he doesn’t trust his pilots -- he does. There’s just that little nagging, proud bit of himself that knows he’s the best pilot they’ve got and maybe, just maybe, if he’d been at the controls, he might have pushed the ‘jumper a little bit faster, been there in time to bring everyone home.

Days like that are the worst. He visits the injured, like he always does, but it’s just as awkward while he’s a cat, because now there’s just nothing he can _say._ So he and Rodney shadow Lorne, who says all the nice words that don’t sound forced when they come out of his mouth. John envies that.

There's a small disaster off world; a simple mission to exchange trade goods turned into a firefight due to local political unrest. They lose four Marines.

Elizabeth calls Rodney with the bad news and they plan to meet Lorne at the infirmary to visit the survivors. They have to get past Carson first, though. And he meets John and Rodney and Lorne at the door when they come in, arms crossed.

Beckett makes noises about the unsanitary conditions of having a cat roaming around the infirmary. And he won’t quite look John in the eye.

“For crying out loud, it’s the Colonel!” Lorne blurts. Everyone looks at him. John wants to promote him on the spot. Lorne colors a little but doesn’t back down. He’s pretty impressive when he’s this pissed. “We just want to see our people; four of ‘em didn’t come home today and we need to see the ones that did. And they need to see us.”

“Thank you, Major,” Rodney says, his chin tilting to “victory is nigh.” “Carson, it’s not as if he’s going to be putting his paws in open wounds,” he points out.

John remains on Rodney’s shoulders with his ears back and trying to convey all of his full Military Commander displeasure, and makes a brief, threatening noise.

“Yes, well. Then. You’re right, I suppose. I’m sure they’ll be glad of a friendly face. I’ll just leave you to it, then Colonel, Major, Rodney,” Carson says, voice a bit strangled. “Don’t let Rodney tire anyone out with his jawing, now.”

John blinks solemnly and holds his position until Carson retreats.

“Ha.” Rodney says with grim satisfaction, and marches off for them to both be awkwardly sympathetic. It’s easier somehow to do in tandem.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Lorne seems to want to go over the casualty list with him and that’s fine; a burden halved is a burden shared. John sits with him while he writes the condolence letters, listens as he reads them aloud and asks his opinion. He shows Evan where the bottle of whiskey is in his desk drawer, and wishes he could have some. Evan gives him a grim smile and they have a small, two-man wake. John tries to listen as long as Lorne needs him, but pretty soon it’s obvious that John’s as good at this now as he was as a human.

“Permission to speak freely, sir?”

“Meh,” John drawls his permission, and twitches both ears and his tail at him. Like he cares about that tonight.

“I have to say, sir,” Lorne muses, chin in hand, “you’re not a hell of a lot different like this. Sure, you _really_ have the whole man-in-black special ops thing in the bag, and god, the men love you like always, but. This is not so weird.” He looks at his mug. “Maybe that’s the bourbon talking,” he adds, already shaking his head. “No, it’s not. What’s weird is? I think the unit is more…” he threads his fingers together, making a strong mesh. “You know? I do not know how you do that. You can’t even fucking talk.”

John has no idea what to say to that. Talking about himself is never a comfortable subject— except, he doesn’t have to talk, he realizes. It feels easy, even natural, as he stands up and head butts against Evan’s shoulder. Hard. _“Lorne,”_ he scolds, and butts him again. _Don’t be stupid.”_

Lorne blinks at the long, meowing reply before making a scoffing sound. “Yeah, yeah, yeah, right.” Lorne demurs.

John sits up straight and half-closes his eyes, trying to radiate approval for the job Lorne is doing. He might have to head-butt him again.

Lorne gives him a little half-smile. “We do have that whole ‘bad cop, good kitty’ thing going on when we need it.”

John gives him a look and Lorne clears his throat. “Sorry, sir,‘good _cat._ ’”

_~*~*~*~*~_

He does his own grieving privately. Teyla finds him – not hard because it’s her gym – with his head propped on a stack of her towels. If she’s startled at the unexpected visitor – he never arrives before her – she hides it well.

“John. May I have a towel?” 

He looks at her, trying to convey just how comfortable he is with the towels exactly like they are.

She considers him a moment. “I believe there are others in my basket over….there….” she murmurs and drifts off. 

John closes his eyes, relieved. A few moments later, he smells Teyla close again before she lifts his towel basket. He opens his eyes as she turns the basket toward the partially opened window and the sea. “I do not think anyone will disturb you if your back is turned and the towels are hidden,” she says kindly. 

He lifts his head and looks into her warm, serene face. “Aowr,” he cries softly. 

She strokes his ears. “Rest and find peace, my friend. You are safe here.” 

John leans his cheek against her hand and purrs quietly. Teyla draws her fingers away in a slow caress. He sighs and looks out to sea, the sound of sticks striking one another rhythmic, orderly and familiar behind him. Too soon, they take on the sharp, staccato report of gunshots, and the peace is broken. 

~*~*~*~

John’s curled on the bed when Rodney comes home, a tight knot of misery and self-recrimination. He still can’t shake the feeling that he might have made a difference out there today, if he was his regular self.

Rodney doesn’t say anything, just putters around taking of his jacket and shoes and putting on a pair of sweats. He sits on the bed and strokes John from head to tail, smooth firm strokes down his back, over and over, until John uncurls helplessly, wanting more of the wonderful hand smoothing the day’s pain away. 

"You couldn’t have stopped it, you know.” Rodney murmurs, and puts a hand on John’s belly when he tries to curl up again, bracketing him front and back with warm hands. John lies limp and discouraged between them. 

“We would have been off world on a whole other mission ourselves, if you weren’t…”

John looks up and finishes the sentence for him, _”A fucking cat.”_

“Yell at me all you want. We had a return mission to PX5-432 scheduled for today. We couldn’t have gotten there in time.”

John slumps back on the bed and Rodney curls up behind him, pulling John to lean against his chest as he strokes his belly. John can hear him thinking.

“I know you, John Sheppard,” he whispers after a long, time, “and you can’t always be the big action hero or be in two places at once. Not even I can break the laws of space and time to help you do that.”

That’s enough to earn Rodney a look, so John tips his face back and twitches his ears at him.

“Okay, maybe I could, but it really causes more problems than it’s worth. Including possibly destroying the universe.”

“Meh,” John sighs, and relaxes into Rodney’s touch.

“Listen,” he whispers. “Did you get any dinner? I can go get you some turkey.”

John looks up at him again.

“Okay.” Rodney’s sweet smile doesn’t make the day’s sadness go away, but it sure as hell makes it more bearable. “Not going anywhere.”


	22. Body Language: Interpretive Dance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of the best parts of friendship is not having to spell everything out.

Rodney was aware of John just on the edges of his peripheral vision, marching around the perimeter of his office. He'd slunk in about ten minutes ago and ignored Rodney's greeting.

Finally, John jumped up on Rodney's table and meowed so hard his muzzle wrinkled up and his ears flattened sideways.

Rodney winced sympathetically. "Okay. Yelling. Why is there yelling?"

John complained just as emphatically and kept on complaining, pacing back and forth across the table. Rodney leaned back to avoid John's lashing tail.

"Hmmm, Lorne?"

John sat, wrapped his tail around his feet and gave Rodney a flat look.

"Okay. Not Lorne. Or your Marines. Or me?" John twitched his ears impatiently. "Well, I had to ask! You and Ronon didn't have another breakfast standoff, did you? That never ends well..." under John's glare he added, "usually for Ronon."

Unfurling his tail and re-wrapping it around himself, John gave him another look. Apparently the last match, which ended with gravy in John's tail, had tempered John's interest in getting Ronon's goat. _Thank. God._

"Jensen and Ackles...didn't..."

"Rrrrrowr!" John complained again, and wow, that with the ears and the muzzle...that was really kind of hilariously adorable. Best not to mention it.

John leaned forward and butted Rodney in the shoulder with his head, then looked at Rodney with the big tragic eyes. Rodney thought hard for a moment, _Tuesday, what happened on Tuesdays and...._

"Oh," he said softly, stricken. "The 'jumpers. I-I'll ask Radek to find someone else to help with the repai...."

John hissed.

"O-kay," Rodney said slowly. "I won't."

John stared at him, hard.

"I promise!"

John leaned forward and pressed his head against Rodney's shoulder. "Aowr," he replied in a tiny voice.

Rodney swallowed hard. "I can only imagine," he said, and stroked one hand down John's back.

After a minute, John gave Rodney one last headbutt and sat to give his paw a few nervous licks. He glanced at Rodney and plunked down, paws underneath his chest. Rodney glanced over at John's box, then back at John. Didn't say anything, just went back to work.

Several long moments later, John silently reached out, brushed Rodney's arm with his paw and tucked it back under his chest, his eyes downcast.

"John." Rodney said softly. "Anytime."

John didn't look at him, but after a minute or so, he started to purr.

~~~~~

The next time John appeared after playing lightswitch for Radek, he hunched miserably next to Rodney's laptop. Rodney stretched and drank a swig of coffee, contemplating this, then, reached out and slid John across the stainless steel table until he rested between Rodney's arms and the laptop. John remained stiff with surprise for a long, long moment while Rodney began typing again. Eventually the line of his back softened as he relaxed little by little. Eventually, John rested his chin on Rodney's arm and purred until he fell asleep.

~~~~

And about twenty minutes after that, Rodney's eyes watered while he tried not to laugh aloud at John's tiny kitty snores. Waking him up that way would not improve his mood.

~~~

When John woke up, he stretched until his feet were planted in Rodney's belly and the laptop had slid forward a few millimeters. He rolled to his side - halfway on the keyboard - and blinked up at Rodney sleepily. "Brrr?"

"Yeah, I could eat," Rodney replied, wiggled one arm free enough to hit "save," scooped a mostly-boneless John up onto his shoulders and headed for the mess, whistling


	23. In Which John's Last Name Is Apparently Quite Literal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This might be a little indulgent, even for me.

When Rodney stumbled into his quarters, John uncurled from a tight ball on Rodney’s pillow and started bitching in the way that let Rodney know he’d startled John awake. It was pretty funny, actually, very much a grouchy “Hey, settle down!” thing and Rodney not so secretly loved flapping the unflappable Colonel.

He took a moment to smirk, swayed on his feet and John’s pissy squint turned into a different sort of a thing and he began a whole new line of fussing – worried this time – and padded down the length of the bed, asking questions and making accusations.

“I know, I know, but I got distracted by a…” he said tiredly, wobbling on his feet and tried to figure out how his jacket worked, “thingy.” He glanced at John who was glowering up at him. “I need to, um…”

“Mwrrrr,” John growled as he hopped down and started tugging at Rodney’s shoestrings.

“Hey, you don’t have to, I mean…” John butted his head against Rodney’s leg and Rodney toed out of his shoe and wrestled with his shirt until John signaled that the other shoe was ready. “Thanks.” John kept butting at his legs, though, and finally Rodney figured out that he was being herded toward the bathroom.

“Oh,” he said, heading that direction and belatedly added. “I can get myself ready for bed, you know.”

“Rrrrrowr,” John huffed and walked over to the desk. Rodney stared at him for a moment, trying to figure out what he was doing, then gave up and stumbled into the bathroom to brush his teeth. He stood there, staring at the water running down the drain and it finally dawned on him that he wasn’t feeling so hot.

“You know,” he said slowly, “I think I might be…” And then John was on the counter beside him, mouth full of sugar packets. He dropped them and glared up at Rodney.

“Oh, hey, thanks,” Rodney mumbled, reaching for them. “I um…”

“Rrrrowr,” John nudged him.

“Right, right.” Tearing open a couple of packets, Rodney dumped them into his mouth, grimacing, and then reached for two more. He carefully did not say anything about the tooth holes or cat spit, figuring since John noticed him sliding into hypoglycemia before he did, he didn't have much room to be picky. Finally, he nodded, feeling the effects of the sugar hitting his blood stream. “Better,” he sighed, and bent down to scoop up a few handfuls of water.

“Rrrrow,” John said when Rodney straightened up and started butting his head against Rodney’s hip. “Mrrr, mrrow, mrrow.”

“Right, now for some…” but John was already off the counter and through the door before Rodney could turn around. By the time he was halfway to his bed, John was already there, this time with a packet of precious peanut butter crackers.

“Perfect,” Rodney breathed as he slumped against the headboard. He tore open the package and started munching his way through the dry, crumbly, utterly fantastic crackers. John sat in front of him, tail curled around his body, the very tip of it twitching irritably.

“I know,” Rodney sighed. “I…I just…I was onto something, I thought.”

Still glaring, John stood and bumped his head against Rodney’s knee, looked up at him and bumped it again. “Mrrrrrwrrr,” he growled.

“Okay, okay, point made. I’m eating! Go do…you-type things.”

John patrolled the room, turning off Rodney’s desk lamp and the lights in the bathroom. He lapped up a bit of water from his dish and wandered over to the balcony to look at the stars. By the time he made his way back to the bed, Rodney was under the covers and muttering over a journal.

Rodney automatically adjusted so that John could lie against his side, as per usual, and held out his arm, waiting. He looked up when John didn’t come forward. John was sitting straight as a statue at the end of the bed, disapproval radiating from every whisker.

“What?”

John said nothing. Rodney flapped his magazine irritably and went back to reading. A moment or two later, John walked up his torso, planting his hard little feet with far more force than necessary. A paw appeared at the top of the magazine and pushed down, and Rodney, surprised, let him push until rested on Rodney's belly.

“Was there something?”

John sat, paws tucked under himself, on top of the journal and stared into Rodney’s eyes. He purred, very pointedly, and put on what Rodney called his “Budda” face, radiating calm and good cheer.

“That might work on injured Marines, Sheppard, but it’s not going to work on me.”

John opened his eyes and glared at him, then rested his head on Rodney’s sternum. This time the purr sounded a little aggressive. The lights went off. Rodney thought them back on. They went back off. Rodney thought them right back on, but this time he had to fight for it a little.

“Do you mind?”

Expression softening, John sat up and gently touched one of his paws to Rodney’s jaw. “Brrrr,” he trilled sadly, waited for a long moment, then shifted as if to get up.

The fight melted right out of Rodney. He pressed a hand against John’s side. “You get up, I’m just going to start reading again,” he whispered.

John twitched his ears, but he rested his head on Rodney’s chest, then rolled to his side, chin thrust up happily. His front paw grazed Rodney’s chin as his purr thundered back full-force.

“Yes, thank you for praising the human,” Rodney huffed affectionately, and switched off the lights. He stroked John’s soft fur for awhile, then whispered, “And they call _me_ bossy.”

“Bwrrrr!” John scoffed and nosed under Rodney’s fingers for more ear-scritching.


	24. Conversion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Conversion: _noun_ : an event that results in a transformation

It had been a long afternoon after a longer morning – departmental meeting day, joy, joy, joy – and Rodney couldn’t find John. It wasn’t as if he _needed_ John for anything, particularly….Rodney just liked to know where he was. Sometimes. Particularly since he was so small.

John wasn’t in any of his usual places; not supervising Teyla’s training sessions from the seat by the window, not playing some hair-raising game with Ronon and the marines, he wasn’t making sure the engineering department was not on the verge of blowing them sky high and he certainly wasn’t curled up in his box on Rodney’s lab bench.

It was not the first time Rodney had thought about modifying a radio for cat ears, but John got freaked out by the tiny little microphone brushing his whiskers and Rodney laughing at the resulting contortions John used to get it off…yeah. They weren’t going to be trying that again anytime soon.

Rodney really shouldn’t have compared it to the time he tried to put a leash on Schrodinger. At least, not aloud.

John had stalked off to the conservatory, where he got hit broadside by the automatic sprinklers. His bad-day pouting funk was epic. So epic that it lasted through to the next morning when Rodney - sleepier than usual because _someone_ kicked in his sleep and when called on it, stomped off to the laundry hamper - was reading some science department reports while having breakfast, missed his mouth, dumped his eggs in his lap, jabbed himself in the face with his fork and turned his coffee cup over. John didn’t - couldn’t - laugh, but Rodney could tell by his smug expression and his ear-shattering purr that he was doubled over laughing on the inside.

Thinking about it wasn’t helping Rodney’s mood.

Of course John was the very last place Rodney looked; his quarters. He was stretched out, belly up and paws dangling, drowsing in the afternoon sun. He turned his head and gazed fondly at Rodney, drunk on sunshine.

For a moment, Rodney could see John’s long, lanky, black-uniformed body as clearly as if he had transformed right then, see him squinting in the sun and smiling his slow, warm smile. Stuff like that had been happening all week, little things John did that reminded him of, well, John.

Made Rodney _see_ John. He’d been doing it all week and hadn’t realized what he was...that he...of all the stupid...

Between one blink and the next, John was a cat again, drowsy and ridiculous and so blissed out he could barely keep his eyes open.

“Go back to sleep,” Rodney whispered, not trusting his voice.

John nestled back down into the t-shirt Rodney had slept in last night and twisted slightly to get more sun on his belly.

Rodney went to the bathroom and washed his face, avoided his own gaze in the mirror, and somehow made it to the balcony, where he watched the sun begin its slow descent.


	25. Conflicted

“I think you should go back to your room,” Rodney blurts.

John looks at him with his ears flattened in the “what the hell was _that?_ ” position. Doing this while he’s in the bunny bed with the bunny’s ears in the same position is all kinds of wrong. Especially when Rodney can tell his feelings are hurt.

“Sorry, sorry.” Rodney rubs his hands over his face. “It’s just that…you’re going to change back soon. Like _in a few days_ soon. We don’t know exactly when it will happen, I mean, I probably could work out the time from the rotation of Gata, the orbit of its' moon and the time of when you were changed. Did you happen to notice the time? And okay, the shaman even said it was around a full turn of their moon, the inaccuracy of which could be related to the strength of the user’s ATA gene. But we might be able to figure out a general time frame so you don’t transform, say, in the middle of dinner or…”

“Mrrow,” John says, putting a paw on his wrist.

“Babbling, sorry.”

John stands and stretches, though Rodney can tell it’s kind of perfunctory and stiff. He pads over to sit practically on the keyboard, between Rodney's arms. He looks steadily into Rodney’s eyes, then bumps him in the chest with his head, really leaning into it. Leaping off the desk, he heads for the door, determined but tail drooping.

“You’re just going to go, just like that?” Rodney’s voice cracks with incredulity.

John stops and looks over his shoulder. “Mow?” He answers sadly.

“Oh my god you _idiot_ ,” Rodney says, rubbing his face again. “I’m not _evicting_ you. Jesus.”

John sits on the floor, looking mulish, so Rodney goes over and sits in front of him.

“You don’t have to just _go_. We’ll take your stuff over, whatever you want. And you don’t have to go right now. But I thought you might like to be…alone? When you change? Get your people legs back.”

“Mow,” John says consideringly.

“Be-because you know, I don’t think you’ll be in your uniform,” Rodney says in a rush, blushing furiously.

John just sits there stiffly, looking astonished.

“You cannot tell me, the guy who thinks about the fact that Hermiod _wears_ no _pants_ didn’t think about that.”

John plunks down, sitting on his paws. The small black cloud of grouchiness is practically visible and audible above his head.

Rodney gently stokes his ears in apology. John accepts it with frosty grace.

“I can’t believe you thought I was just going to kick you out like that.”

Without looking at him, John crawls into his lap and resumes his hunched, depressed position.

“Big martyred action hero,” Rodney whispers fondly, stroking his back in long, smooth strokes.

John rests his head on Rodney’s leg and sighs.

“Okay, you big baby, I’ve gotta get up, my back…”

John looks up at him.

“I’m taking you with me when I get up, geez!” He gathers John to his chest and flails himself to his knees and then to a standing position. John hangs on and Rodney very firmly says nothing about his claws.

Rodney walks over to the bed and John jumps down, looking up at him expectantly. Rodney toes off his shoes and lies down beside him. John settles next to his chest, once more in the paws-tucked-under position. He continues to look worried.

“Boy, I’ve really handled this badly, huh?”

John shifts his weight so he’s tucked close to Rodney’s side. Lying his head down on the bed, he relaxes into him, just a little.

Rodney rubs his forehead with this thumb, which he knows is calming. John lifts his chin, and it trembles ever so slightly in bliss.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

“Aat.” John gives a tiny, rusty meow, so small it’s almost a squeak. He keeps his eyes shut.

Rodney moves on to concentrate his caresses behind one ear, stroking the fine, almost feathery fur there. John rolls his head into it, stuttering into a purr and presses against Rodney just a little bit more, rolling slightly on his side.

“You know I’m going to miss you, right? Miss this.” Rodney stops talking as his voice thickens.

John rolls back to his stomach and stands, walking the step or two until their faces are close together. His head is bent and he looks up at Rodney from under his brow, humbly, asking a question that Rodney can’t quite parse.

Rodney leans back a little to look into his face, which is soft and somehow achingly young. It makes his chest hurt.

John leans over and rolls his forehead against Rodney’s. “Aow,” he cries softly, “Aow.”

“Yeah, buddy,” Rodney whispers. “I know.”

John collapses beside him and tucks his face in the space between Rodney’s neck and arm.

Rodney wiggles around enough to be comfortable, and dims the lights, his arm tucked around the small, warm cat. He waits until he’s sure John is sleeping soundly, then slips out to his balcony. His sits in his chair and looks up at the stars, and no matter how stupid it is, he grieves for what he is about to lose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _John rolls back to his stomach and stands, walking the step or two until their faces are close together. His head is bent and he looks up at Rodney from under his brow, humbly, asking a question that Rodney can’t quite parse._
> 
> _Rodney leans back a little to look into his face, which is soft and somehow achingly young. It makes his chest hurt.  
> _
> 
> April 25th 2014. That little scene above was inspired by my Goldberry, who would come and give me that look every single time she came for a snuggle. She died April 7, after a very rapid descent into pulmonary distress. She was, as best we can tell, somewhere between 18-19, a good run, but gone too soon. She was a sweet, steady, quiet presence that is greatly missed, and inspired so many little scenes in this fic, including the twitching muscles of annoyance, rapid reflexes and messy table manners in "Standoff." 
> 
> I had so many people tell me, when I was originally writing and posting this, that this story brought them comfort, allowed them to enjoy good memories of a kitty that had passed. It means even more to me, now.


	26. Comfort

John woke to find the bed empty. _Rodney?_

There was a breeze coming in from the balcony, so John hopped off the bed and padded over to the open door.

Rodney was sprawled tightly in his chair, feet on another, obviously having come out here to think or brood. Away from him.

They were both nervous about his return to his regular body some time in the next week, ( _Would he remember? How much?)_ undercurrents starting to churn around them, get choppy, dangerous, anticipatory, awkward, weird. It _was_ weird, no denying. Still, John's heart dropped to think that Rodney felt like he needed to get away from him in his own quarters.

John debated on whether to wake him, worried about which was worse, a sore back tomorrow or discovery now? Rodney shifted slightly, grumbling in his sleep, his face tilting slightly toward the waning moon. His mouth was pulled down in a tight, unhappy corner even in sleep.

Standing on his hind legs and peering up at him, John tried to puzzle out what to do, worried that Rodney would rebuff any sympathy. He froze.

Seconds later, he leapt as lightly as he could onto Rodney's lap and draped himself across Rodney's _(crossed, keep-out)_ arms. He sniffed delicately at his face. Salt, and not from the sea.

Lightly, so gently it was barely even a touch, John licked a drying tear from Rodney's cheek, wishing with all his heart for hands and lips and arms to hold and comfort. He settled, cheek pressed against cheek, as close as he could, his paws around Rodney's neck in the best he could offer of himself.

Underneath him, Rodney sighed, breath shaky. One hand stole around his neck, fingers gentle, sweeping down his back in a slow, meditative caress. John rubbed his face against Rodney's.

Rodney leaned into it. "John," he whispered like it hurt to talk.

John curled closer and purred, trying to tell him. Tell him everything.


	27. Conviction

If John had thought he’d bypassed having to move out of Rodney’s quarters, he was sadly mistaken. Rodney was determined to be selfless and make them both miserable, and no drooping or pleading looks, and certainly nothing John could say could stop him.

During the actual move, John was so angry he thought of just taking off for a couple of days, deep into the city, but in his heart he knew he didn’t really want to do that. Besides, Rodney would be frantic.

He sat on his balcony and looked out at the stars, resolutely turning his back on his now unfamiliar things and the stuff he’d been given in the last month. Rodney left without saying goodbye, which hurt a lot more than it should have.

By the second evening in his quarters, John Sheppard was bored, lonely, and about as furious as he’d ever been. (Johnny Cash’s constant surveillance wasn’t helping.) He didn’t want to wait out the time until his transformation alone. He didn’t _want_ to transform _alone_.

Not that he wanted to go to the infirmary or anything, he just wanted Rodney to be there; needed him to be there. Would he just turn back into himself instantaneously, like he had seemed to back on Gata? He couldn’t quite remember exactly what had happened before there was a loud noise and he was running. Would he go through some sort of horrible werewolf-like transformation? Elizabeth had gotten remarkably little intel about the reversal of the process. It was worrying him.

And the one person who could help him through this could barely look him in the eye.

Rodney stumbling around the city like John was waiting to be hanged didn’t help matters. He had, without a doubt, the worst poker face John had ever seen, and every bit of reassurance his friends tried to give him only seemed to drive him deeper into gloom. Of course he seemed to deliberately not get what John tried to say to him, which made John want to bite him, but he figured that would put the conversation back even farther.

He wasn’t going to just sit here and let things continue to stew like this. He grabbed his bed by the ear and dragged it down the hall. It was clumsy and the fleece made his mouth itch, but dammit, he was making a point.

He thought Rodney’s door open and backed his way in, dragging the bunny bed inside. The door closed on its own and John turned around to find Rodney sitting at his desk, face lined and tired.

“John?” His voice sounded weak and sad, and he was slumped over a journal and lots of wrappers and cups, dressed in boxers and a t-shirt that wasn’t even funny. His hair was sticking up all over and he looked like he’d lost his best friend.

John was going to bite him. He couldn’t _believe_ Rodney was giving up _now_.

“Aao!” John yelled, too mad to form words, but standing his ground. “M _errrrrrr_ oooow!”

Rodney blinked but started looking more like himself. “What?” he said irritably. “What’s gotten into you?”

John dragged the bed to the center of the floor, marched into the bathroom to rinse the fleece out of his mouth (never again) and then scent-marked everything on the way back, including a swerve by Rodney to mark his bare leg, his foot, and his chair, which he’d never really cared about before, but a point was a point. He took a detour over to the bed and marked the picture, the bed, (all four corners) the pillow and Rodney’s third-favorite laptop. Having gotten that out of his system, he jumped down, crawled into his bed and glared.

“So, I suppose I should be grateful you didn’t spray anything,” Rodney huffed.

“Aowrrrr!” Stung, John turned his back on Rodney and plunked his head down between the bunny’s ears. Forty years old and sulking in one-half a pair of bunny slippers; his life had officially hit a new low. “Aow,” he cried softly, exhausted and sad from his outburst.

“Hey now,” Rodney said gently as he walked across the room. “Hey.” He sat cross legged in front of John, who looked at him from under his brow.

“You really didn’t want to leave.” Rodney said wonderingly, smile beginning to form at the corner of his mouth. “It wasn’t just some cat-not-liking-a-change-in-routine thing.”

 _”No,”_ he said, wishing he could roll his eyes. His voice came out so small he didn’t think Rodney could hear it. Miserable, he tried again and his voice squeaked out the barest reply. He closed his eyes, a little overwhelmed now that he saw Rodney’s kind, worried face.

Rodney stroked John’s head, and he leaned into it, eyes still closed, pushing up into the touch.

“So I was wrong,” he whispered.

 _“Yeah.”_ John’s voice was still choked to smallness.

“You big baby,” Rodney said affectionately. “That was some hissy fit.”

John opened his eyes to deliver a death glare. Rodney just grinned more.

“I can’t say I was unaffected by your departure.”

John looked at him for a long moment. Rodney blushed.

“You know.” He made a vague, embarrassed gesture.

 _"Yeah,"_ John said, _"Missed you, too"_

“I don’t know what’s going to happen to you,” Rodney confided. “I’ve asked Elizabeth and Carson to find out. She said she was too shocked on the first trip to get more information.”

John got up,walked into Rodney’s lap and head-butted him in the chest. Rodney’s hands, gentle and slow, stroked down his back.

“And you’re sure you want to stay _here?_ With me?” His voice wavered on the last word.

John just head-butted him over and over, getting at all the places on Rodney’s ribs where he was ticklish, pushing and wiggling as hard as he could until Rodney collapsed back on his elbows, laughing. John marched up his body until they were nose to nose.

 _”Yes,”_ he said firmly. _”You.”_


	28. The Road Home: Gata

John strolled in around four in the morning and caught Rodney tossing and turning on a bed peppered liberally with physics journals and magazines. The lights were at a level of polite dimness – theoretically for John (who, of course, had excellent night vision) – but really for Rodney to see John when he chose to slip back into the room.

Not that he was worried.

Hearing the door open and shut, Rodney sighed and punched his pillow. “I take it all is well?” he asked a little bitterly.

John sat on the end of the bed and stared at Rodney, his head tilted.

“What?” Rodney asked, narrowing his eyes. “Please tell me you didn’t check Jenson's calculations again. He’s going to get spoiled.”

He might have been a little defensive at being caught awake while John was out doing the restless prowling thing for the third night in a row. Rodney couldn't quite get to sleep until John had returned to their quarters – his quarters – _the room_ safe and sound. Not that there was anything out there that might _hurt_ John, but he just….

He took a longer look. “What is it?”

John was shifting his weight from one paw to the other nervously. He was looking at Rodney with the kind of expression he wore when he was about to admit to something he’d done that was really stupid or embarrassing.

“You didn’t break up another lover’s lane did you? Are you okay?”

(John had fallen asleep in a tree in the conservatory, and fallen _out_ of it when an overly enthusiastic anthropologist tackled a marine against the trunk. In the scramble for dignity, John had been accidentally kicked. He’d only been a little bruised and embarrassed, but Rodney had been out for blood. John was forced to set his teeth in Rodney's ear until he promised to back off.)

With one, final, pained look, John planted his feet, stared him right in the eye and said, “Nnnoow.”

Rodney stared at him, mouth open. “What?” he said faintly.

“ _Now_.”

“Oh my god.”

“Ronnnee,” John growled, impatient. “Rrrrodneh.”

“Ohmygod, that’s my _name!_ ” Rodney crowed, grinning, as he grabbed John and lay back, holding his squirming, complaining friend over his head.

“Oh my god, you can talk! I mean, you talked before, but it was meowing and I understood you mostly but you can _speak English_ now and you sound mostly like my Aunt Millie, who was born with, with, with you know, deafness, and oh shut up and put your claws back in, I’m going to hug you.” And he did, lowering the glowering cat to his chest.

“Look at you, you got your fur all irritated and poofed out for nothing,” he said happily, smoothing it down. “Say something else.”

John looked at him flatly. “Gaaata. _Now._ ”

“Oh.” Rodney said, suddenly breathless. “Oh. _Now_ Now. ”

“Nnnnow.”

“Oh, shit.” He jumped up, scrambling for his radio and his pants, and dumped John unceremoniously on the floor.

“Rrrowr!”

“Sorry, sorry,” Rodney babbled. “Do you feel okay? I mean, is this that something that just came over you or I don’t know….” He stopped. “Why do we have to go now?”

John shifted his paws again and looked up at Rodney his ears twitching. “Doon nnno?”

“You don’t know?”

“Mow. _No_.”

“Why are you _talking_ now?”

“Mrrrrowr!” John said in irritation.

“Yes, obviously dressing!” Rodney snapped back, hopping around on one foot. “I can’t believe you’ve been holding out on me!”

“Haaar.”

“Heart?”

 _”Harrr-d”_ John said, obviously struggling to enunciate.

“But. Still!”

“Rrrrr.” John walked over to the door and stood, waiting.

“I’m coming! Jesus!” Rodney stuffed his feet into his shoes and keyed his radio.

“McKay to Weir.”

“Rodney? What’s wrong?”

“Colonel Sheppard seems to feel that it’s imperative that he return to Gata immediately.”

“Oh,” Elizabeth sounded a little nonplussed. “He told you this?”

“No, Elizabeth, he communicated via his Quija board!” Rodney bent to scoop John up and settle him on his shoulders. “Apparently he’s been practicing human speech for emergencies, so he could scare us with the unearthly tone of his voice. Suffice it to say that he made himself quite clear.’” John pressed his head next to Rodney’s radio, listening in.

“I see,” Elizabeth replied frostily. “I’m not sure I should authorize this mission based on the say-so of the Gatan shaman who thought Colonel Sheppard _might_ like to return and a talking cat, no matter who it is. Did we get any information about the transformation process from the database? Have you consulted Carson?”

Rodney reached up and scratched Sheppard’s neck in sympathy as he boarded the transporter.

“No, I haven’t consulted Carson, the human internist, about my friend, _the cat_. As for the process, you were the one who _gathered_ the information, and that information was, well, spotty at best because they won’t let us examine the device! Elizabeth, please. Colonel Sheppard hasn’t asked for a thing for himself during this whole process, and has continued to be a vital part of this community _while in feline form_ , something that I’m sure you can agree that not many people could accomplish; especially his work continuing to support and lead his men. And let me remind you; the sooner he transforms back into human form, the sooner you get your full-time military commander back.”

“Okay, Rodney, I’m convinced. I take it that you’ll want Teyla and Ronon to join you?”

“Yes, I think we should go as a team. Thank you.”

“Rodney, I should apologize; you caught me a little off guard. Just…just don’t do any _other_ ceremonies while you’re there, all right?”

“Understood.” Rodney keyed his radio again. “Teyla, Ronon, this is McKay, do you read?”

“I am here, Rodney,” Teyla said.

“Sheppard says it’s time to go to Gata. We have the go ahead for a mission. Please meet me in the gateroom in ten? Oh, oh, and swing by the Colonel’s quarters and pick up the bag on his bed, if you would. I meant to have it with me. And can you get Ronon?”

“Yes. We will be there as soon as possible, Rodney,” Teyla sounded nervous or excited, and Rodney tried to not let that ratchet up his own tension as he keyed the transporter.

“So,” he said to John, rubbing his ears. “Road trip?”


	29. The Road Home: Dawning

They hadn’t expected, when they stepped through the gate, to find a welcoming party on the other side. The last of the Gatan sunset framed the half-dozen figures waiting for them just in front of the DHD, and Team Sheppard stood, blinking a little stupidly into the setting sun. (Actually, Rodney stood there blinking, and he assumed his teammates were doing the same because no one – Ronon didn’t even fondle his gun - moved a muscle.)

Rodney wanted to gather up John – who'd insisted on walking through the gate alone – and protect him, but it was obvious that Gata had peaceful intentions, at least for the moment – every one of them held their hands out in greeting.

“Welcome,” the man in the center of the circle said to all of them, then bent his smiling face to John. “We are blessed by your return.”

Teyla took the lead. “Gata’nah, we did not expect to see you here. Are you waiting for other visitors?

“For you,” he said simply. “We knew Colonel Sheppard’s time was soon.”

“You’ve just been hanging out here by the gate for…” Rodney asked, his voice rising in surprise.

“Four days.”

“We didn’t know we were coming back ourselves until about an hour ago,” Rodney added. “There was the remote possibility we’d return, of course, given your invitation but I didn’t think since…”

“The unfortunate incident following his transformation, yes.” The shaman stepped forward. “We have not met. I am Gata’nah, the guide of the people.” He extended an arm toward Rodney.

“My apologies, this is Doctor Rodney McKay.” Teyla gestured to Rodney that he should clasp forearms with the shaman.

“Um, yes, hello.” They shook arms. Rodney felt incredibly awkward.

“Are you part of Colonel Sheppard’s family, Dr. McKay? Or his healer?” The shaman’s gaze was very sharp.

“I-I, um.” He was saved by John choosing that moment to climb Ronon’s leather pants until Ronon picked him up and put him on Rodney’s shoulders.

“We're all his family,” Ronon said firmly, which caused the shaman to smile brightly and laugh.

“I am glad to hear it. Come! We shall share a meal together.” He turned, then looked back at John. “I would very much like to hear the tale of how two ‘Lanteans, an Athosian and a Sataedan became a family. And of your journey, John Sheppard. “ Gata’nah clapped Rodney on the back and strode toward the lights that were obviously his village, gesturing for all to follow.

For the rest of the evening, time seemed to move in confusing, firelit patches, smiling Gatans offering roasted meats and vegetables and the best bread Rodney had eaten in months. John rested against his knee, drowsing, as Gata’nah asked the team questions about how people reacted to John, how John reacted to people, who'd taken care of him, all the while staring at Rodney in an unnervingly direct way.

Rodney buried his face in his wine cup when Gata’nah made a noise of triumph and declared that Rodney must be John’s basherta’nah, or most trusted friend, the one pre-selected to care for him should he need assistance during his transformation. It wasn’t anything more that what they’d already agreed to, months ago, with the proxy, but the way Teyla smiled, Ronon bumped his shoulder and John snuggled slightly closer made him feel terribly shy. That and Gata’nah looked like he knew _everything_ Rodney was thinking.

The entire village walked them to the guest houses to say goodnight. Backs were patted, ears ruffled, and Rodney carried John on his shoulders into the second guest house after saying his goodnights. Gata’nah followed them like an eager bellhop. Rodney placed John on a small table, dimly thinking to make his escape to the other, larger guest house.

Gata’nah stood before the table and bowed slightly to Sheppard. “I will wake you, John Sheppard, at dawn, and we will go to the Spirit House. There is a bed in the other room so that you may rest. The Gata will keep watch for you all tonight. You are our guests.” He paused and smiled, “Though I am sure Ronon Dex and Teyla Emmagan will watch over you both no matter what I say.”

“Mow,” John agreed, blinking at the shaman slowly. He bowed again and turned to Rodney.

“Rodney McKay, do you require anything?”

“Uh, no, no thank you.” The bellhop comparison came to mind again, and Rodney barely prevented himself from patting his pockets for a tip. “I think that I’ll just say my goodnights to um, the Colonel and then join Ronon and Teyla…”

The shaman gasped, “But…”

Rodney darted forward to give John a goodnight pat. “See you in the morning,” he said softly.

John stared steadily at him and twisted to place one paw on his wrist, his claws extended but not piercing the skin. Through a combination of inching forward and pulling at Rodney’s arm, he managed to drag it closer. Keeping his paw possessively atop it, he rested his chin on Rodney’s skin and looked up at him, staring firmly and not asking. The message _stay here_ was completely clear.

“Right,” Rodney whispered. Gata’nah waved an arm silently toward the sleeping chamber, a grave twinkle in his eye. Rodney nodded, picked up John (whose claws were still set warningly on his forearm) and carried him inside. He heard Gata’nah leave the guest house and set the watch. Rodney sighed to himself.

John jumped down on the bed and turned to look up at Rodney, his nerves and disapproval in every line of his body.

Rodney gestured tiredly. “I’m sorry. I thought you might…”

“Mrrrrowr!” John growled.

“Okay, okay.” Rodney stretched out on his side and John took possession of his arm again. “You big baby.”

Only then John closed his eyes, perhaps not in contentment, not with both of them being so nervous, but was as close as either was going to get tonight.

Rodney dozed, carefully situated so that his cat-possessed arm wouldn’t fall asleep. He woke close to dawn, unusual for him, but John was making small distressed sounds in his sleep; grunts that sounded like pain or sorrow. He turned his hand and cupped John’s head gently, rubbing his cheek with his thumb. John stiffened momentarily, almost visibly shaking off the dream, then nestled into his hand with a sigh.

The bittersweet warmth that filled Rodney’s chest felt like it might drown him. All he could think of was _last time,_ and try to drink up anything John could give him before he changed.

If Rodney was lucky, John would want their friendship to fall back into old, familiar boundaries. Chalk it up to just another one of Sheppard’s freaky possession/alien transformations, and everyone would shrug and move on; especially John, who had some sort of strange gift for letting things roll off his back. But there'd be, every once in a while, a reference to the time the Colonel had been a cat and everyone would remember and laugh while Rodney walked away to lose himself in work until he was too tired to feel.

There would be no more gentle, easy camaraderie, no annoyingly circuitous requests for afternoon naps, no one to lie awake for because he couldn’t get to sleep without someone’s snuffly nose in his neck. No one was going to bite his ear when he was being a jerk or feather a touch across his cheek in affection or apology or just to make him smile.

Rodney blamed feline biochemistry that made John _that_ open-hearted and affectionate. Essential self blah blah blah, there was no way John Sheppard was going to be accepting belly rubs on the other side of this. What the hell had he been thinking?

(Actually, he’d been thinking “Kitty!” It wasn’t really a valid defense.)

You were supposed to keep your hands off your male best friend’s belly, especially if you were his medical proxy, and responsible for him, unless of course he was bleeding to death. You weren’t supposed to _blow raspberries on it_ , or stroke it, or look forward to seeing it, or fall asleep with your nose in its soft fur.

In the last week or so, Rodney had been seeing John not only as a cat, but sometimes as his normal, human self, a ghost wrapped around the little black body curling up next to him with a small, shy smile. He could see John sprawled out and snoozing with one hand thrown over his wrist, or sitting out on the balcony staring out to sea, longing to fly.

Rodney hadn’t realized how much trouble he was in until one afternoon when he’d been idly watching John sleep on the end of their bed. ( _His_ bed; he really had to stop that.) He started daydreaming about where to find a larger mattress and maybe moving some of his reference materials to the lab to make more room, then came back to himself with a jolt.

That’s sort of when he figured out that he wasn’t just gaga about _the cat_.

He really hadn’t been able to help it. He missed having a cat, and it was nice sharing his quarters - really nice - and it was _John_ , a snuggly, shy, sweet, open John. Incredibly pettable, with this funny little rusty purr and there had been a trust thing, a really incredible thing where John needed him and it was easy – fantastic, really - to figure everything out because it was John and John was a cat _and John_ at the same time.

If he had been the kind of guy to believe in miracles, well. Well. They’d been really very happy, considering.

Everyone - including John – had tried to reassure him that everything would be fine. Like they knew. John might have “learned” from his experience, but Rodney couldn’t imagine him changing his behavior that much. John would redraw personal boundaries, probably with a few extra impenetrable walls thrown in, only giving Rodney rare, all too brief glimpses of himself.

Between one blink and the next, John’s eyes opened, looking directly into his, soft and affectionate. Rodney’s breath caught and he closed his eyes. John rubbed his head against his hand and made questioning noises while Rodney tried to take deep, slow breaths. He patted Rodney’s face with a gentle paw.

Shaman Gata’nah knocked and entered quietly. “Dr. McKay, it is time for Colonel Sheppard and I to go to the House of the Spirits. Please, rest and refresh yourself.”

Rodney pulled his hand out from under John’s cheek, fingers stroking lightly. He sat up and wiped his eyes, looking down at his friend. John stood and half-climbed into his lap and looked pointedly at Rodney’s brow, his mouth opening in a request too high and soft for Rodney’s ears.

They leaned together, foreheads touching, and Rodney stroked John’s sides slowly, savoring the touch of his fur. _(Last time, the very last time.)_ John gave him one last head bump in the chest. Rodney stroked John’s forehead, knowing John’s eyes would close in smiling enjoyment.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

“Aat,” John replied, pushing his head into his hand.

“Go on, you’re cutting into my rest and refreshment time,” Rodney teased thickly.

John bumped his hand again and trotted to Gata’nah. He turned to give Rodney a look over his shoulder as the shaman bowed his head gravely.

Rodney nodded and managed a smile and a wave, though his muscles felt leaden. He watched dully as they walked through the front room and Gata’nah opened the outer door. John trotted ahead of him into the daylight, the door swung shut, and Rodney was alone.


	30. The Road Home: The Columbo Method Is Taught At Shaman School

“You realize, John Sheppard,” Gata’nah said, as he lit the logs in the firepit. “That our seclusion is not so much for your sake, but for your family’s.”

John, stretched out on a fluffy, wool fleece kind of rug, twitched his ears at the shaman.

“Well, that’s not entirely true,” the shaman admitted. “You will also have the great opportunity of listening to an old man hear himself talk, which, I am sure is something you’ve looked forward this whole month.”

John had forgotten how much he liked Gata’nah, which had been the reason he’d ended up in the Spirit House in the first place.

“The Gata’nah-that-came-long-before-me, in their wisdom, decided that it worried the people far too much to have their brothers and sisters suddenly transforming before their eyes and falling in a heap on the ground, naked. So, you are to stick to that nice, soft surface, John Sheppard, and no leaping about. The floor in here is hard.”

“ _Am I going to pass out?”_

“Hmm?” Gata’nah asked, frowning, as he searched through the kindling for a stick that satisfied him. “John Sheppard. You know I do not speak that tongue. I suppose you want me to explain things. Humph. Take all the mystery out of it.”

“Everyone always comes back tired. Very tired. My teacher, Gata’nah-before-me, and I thought the sacred device uses a man’s strength in the transformation process somehow, coming and going. I know the power ultimately comes from the Ancestors, but, John Sheppard, the device is _old_ , maybe as old as our mountains, where it was found. I’m sure your scientists could tell me something about that; they asked as much.”

He scratched under his headdress and fixed John with a shrewd look. “So, I think part of the power comes from us, opening ourselves to the Ancestors. I’m not certain I want to know for sure. Whole point of faith is to have _faith_ in it. Right?”

 _“Right,”_ John said, smiling.

Gata’nah stared into the fire, poking at it with his stick. “We’ll have some breakfast – my granddaughters will be bringing it in a moment – and then you’ll get to hear me talk for a bit.” He smiled at Sheppard. “And maybe we’ll figure out if we can understand each other. At some point before,” he squinted up at the sky through the smoke hole in the roof, “mid-day, you’ll be a man again.”

John shifted restlessly on his fleece. _“I’m ready to transform now,”_ he said plaintively.

The shaman stared at him steadily. “You complaining, boy? Excuse me, _John Sheppard._ You sounded like my youngest grandchild there for a moment.”

Looking at him flatly, John sighed and wiggled around to find a more comfortable position.

“I suppose you might have reason to complain, seeing as this came upon you by accident. And again, John Sheppard, I apologize for that.”

 _“Don’t worry about it.”_ There seemed to be a rock under the fleece. John got up and pawed under the hide, trying to move it.

Gata’nah inlined his head graciously. “From the telling of it, you’ve borne the gift well and patiently, but you do seem anxious to transform. Restless. Ready for the next part of your life?”

 _“Yes.”_

“I am honored to know you, then. It takes a brave man to run through a door, knowing that on the other side the world is waiting and he’s going to be as naked as a newborn babe before them all.”

 _“What?”_

The shaman bent his head and laughed, long and hard, tapping his stick on the hearth for emphasis. “Oh,” he said, gleefully. “I never get tired of that! No matter what kind of creature a man or woman turns into - big or small or feathered or scaled or furry – everyone, every last one gets that same look on their face and squawks! Not your clothing, boy. I’ve got a cleansing robe ready for you, and your family has your ‘Lantean gear. It’s your soul that’s going to be naked.”

John sat down with a thump.

Gata’nah’s eyes twinkled kindly. “You’re not going to go back to the way you _were_ John Sheppard. Your body will be the “old” John Sheppard. But your spirit will be who you are, right now. Your essential self.”

John turned abruptly and walked around the Spirit House, drifting from bench to firepit to rug, examining things and thinking. He kicked his pebble meditatively. He didn’t look at the shaman for a long time, which didn’t seem to bother the old man, who continued talking after letting John mull things over for a few long minutes.

“I was granted six days to live my life with my soul clean and fresh as snowmelt. Spent most of it in our lake, fishing and diving.” Gata’nah stared into the fire as he spoke, letting John continue his restless wandering.

“I spent many years, John Sheppard, as apprentice to Gata’nah-before-me. Many years of study and testing and practice, all of which my eldest daughter now learns from me. She is helping a friend deliver her first child today, for we try to guide bodies as well as our people’s spirits, you see.”

“Before it was my time to see my soul’s shape, I had watched other transformations and seen many illnesses and wounds of body and spirit. I had seen much pain among my people, and the people who come here, searching. Not everyone is joyous about changing or changing back, once they’ve lived life as it could have been, all along.

“For some, it is a hard thing. A man once killed himself in front of our eyes before going through the gate. Didn’t want to change back, didn’t want to go back to his old life, and his family couldn’t understand. Didn’t want to. Of course, the transformation happened whether he was willing or not, and no one thought to keep his weapons from him when they dressed him. He died screaming at them in grief and anger as his life flowed onto the ground. It was a sad tale, and not one I wish to tell more of, unless you must hear it.”

He glanced over at John, his face drawn and lined. “I wonder about that man sometimes, the amount of pain falling on him that he felt like he had to do that in front of his children, and _my_ children.” He swept his hand toward his village, face still full of sorrow.

John, having stopped atop a bench a few feet away, turned his head aside, horrified.

“For most, as it was for me, the journey adds greatly to life, as was intended. During my time, part of me wanted more hours to play in the water and fish. But I found myself out in my village, slipping along on the flat little things I had for feet, to see my people. Check on my master. Play with the children. I spent a lot of time with Shanara, the girl who would become my wife, charming her with games and fish and pretty rocks. I could not remember being so happy.”

"But when I opened my eyes again as a man, I could still smell the water, and feel the sun, and the _joy_ of that time was still within my breast. The kind of delight of life I remembered having as a child – but even sweeter now that I understood its worth - I had for those six days. Joy that got covered up by weary duty and study and work and pain.”

He shook his head. “Before I turned, sometimes my calling was a burden to me, John Sheppard, but after…after I realized that I would one day be the guide, and that had to come from _my spirit_ not my master’s. My staff became much lighter.”

John narrowed his eyes at the shaman and flicked his tail against the bench. Gata’nah laughed.

“I’m not saying everyday is a Harvest Dance, John Sheppard, with fine meats and dancing and willing mouths to kiss, but I was glad to shed those things off my spirit, so that I could feel that joy again. I’d like to think I am a better man for knowing my soul and letting it live, free in the air, instead of closing it up in my breast and keeping it hidden. It is up to you, though.” He peered at John across the smoke. “Do you think you are ready?”

John walked across the floor to his rug and sat, straight and tall, upon it. “ _I am_ ,” he answered firmly.

Gata’nah nodded his head several times. “Well, you don’t seem to be panicking, and that’s a good thing; I’ve seen what you can do with those claws. I’m going to go see what’s keeping the girls. We need to get your belly full. Need to get _my_ belly full.”

He got up and walked slowly to the door. About halfway there, he turned. “One thing I wish you could clearly tell me, John-Sheppard-who-is-so-ready, is why your most trusted friend looks like the life is draining out of him. I’ve got an idea about that, but I wonder if you do.”

 _“Mee.”_

Gata’nah raised his eyebrows, put his hands on his hips and made a derisive sound. “Of course it’s about you, you fool,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Do you know _why?_ ”

“’Esss,” John said, laboriously.

“Good.” Gata’nah marched to the door and started shouting for his breakfast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you too young to remember, Peter Falk (the grandfather in the _The Princess Bride_ ) played a TV detective named Columbo, who lulled his quarry with gruff, quirky charm and was always almost out the door before he turned and added a “one more thing,” question, which was invariably the most devastating. You should check the series out - particularly the first season - on Hulu.


	31. The Road Home: Taking The Plunge

“Come on, McKay,” Ronon said, clapping him on the shoulder as he passed, “taking a walk.”

“What?” Rodney spluttered, “I _am_ walking!” He gestured to the well-paced dirt around him, “right here, in fact.”

“I believe what Ronon is trying to say is that it would be more restful for our hosts if you walked _elsewhere_ for a while, Rodney,” Teyla said gently.

Rodney looked at the group of women assembled near the Spirit House as if for the first time. One of the village maidens who had happily poured kafa and flashed her cleavage at him just this morning scowled and beat the dust from her skirts. Teyla raised her eyebrows significantly and gazed at her own dust-covered shins and those of the women near her. Apparently he’d been pacing a little enthusiastically.

He looked at Ronon, who tilted his head in a “hurry up” gesture.

“But -” Rodney gestured helplessly to the Spirit House.

“Not going far.”

“But -”

“You will miss nothing,” Teyla said soothingly. “I promise you.”

“But -”

“McKay. Now.” Ronon called in a voice that promised blood and pain and lots of unpleasant things.

“But, ” he tried one last time, in a very small voice. He had the irrational wish to hide behind Teyla.

“Rodney McKay,” a village matron – the shaman’s wife – said in a ringing voice, “despite your honorable position, I warn you; if you do not go now, we will simply talk about the breadth of your shoulders and the firmness of your rump with you standing before us. It is a very fine rump.”

There were general murmurs of assent. Rodney felt his face flame.

“If we are lucky,” Shanara added, throwing her silver braid over her shoulder, “perhaps you shall strip down for us so that we may be more accurate.” She gave him the most overt once-over he’d ever received in his life.

Rodney, having traumatic flashbacks about teenage girls, found himself utterly unable to reply.

“Modest as well as handsome!” Shanara exclaimed, pleased. She sauntered forward and clapped Rodney on the shoulder in a predatory way. “Tell me, Rodney McKay, do they cut the foreskins of males on your world when they are infants, when they come of age or when they marry?”

Rodney forced himself not to shriek with horror and cover himself. Teyla rose, hopefully to come to his rescue, but he took a deep breath and found his voice.

“I’ll have you know I’m one of the most brilliant scientists you’ll ever have the privilege to meet, thank you very much, not today’s blue plate special! And besides,” he added, flapping a hand at Ronon, “what about Muscles McStudly over there?”

Shanara’s laugh was low and dirty. “Oh, we saw quite enough of Ronon Dex on his last visit to make an accurate comparison. Though the fact that he was bleeding did detract from his charms somewhat.” She watched Rodney, her eyes heavy-lidded and lips pursed, “And you wear your trousers far more loosely than he does.”

“Right,” Rodney replied wisely and fled. The cackle of triumphant women followed him.

“Did you know they were going to do that?” he demanded of Ronon when he was able to find his voice again.

“Not exactly, but I could tell they were getting restless. Not a good idea to stick around a large group of bored women.”

“What would you know about it?” Rodney asked huffily. “I bet you have them eating out of your hand, with that whole cool rugged warrior thing you have going on.”

“Think again.” Ronon replied.

“What?”

“You have a sister.”

“Well, yes. Jeannie.”

“I had six. Six older sisters.”

“And?”

“My hair didn’t _grow_ this way.”

Rodney blinked. “Huh.”

_._~*~_._

John was having a post-breakfast snooze when Gata’nah suddenly said, “Am I correct in thinking you do not yet have a plan to calm your friend's anxiety? It is a serious thing, on Gata, to see your basherta'nah thus and do nothing. The man I met did not seem the type to let a friend suffer.”

John sighed and rolled onto his back, letting his paws dangle above him.

“Hmph.” Gata’nah picked at his teeth meditatively.

John examined the thatched ceiling of the Spirit House, wishing for inspiration to strike. Rodney was incredible, and…Gata’nah was right. He just didn't know what to say.

“John Sheppard,” the shaman said slowly, “there is a ceremony. It is old and something we put aside. Time was, the Gata’nah-that-came-before-me and those that came before him thought it best that when a seeker came back, he should have the opportunity to start fresh. Speak his truth, heart and soul. Break ties if necessary. Of course, that led to stories like I told you earlier, of blood and pain and death.” He peered over at John, who regarded him seriously, albeit from an upside-down vantage point.

“This ceremony has risks, John Sheppard. You will be weary. Bone-tired weary.” Gata’nah frowned. “And this old man will make you stand on shaking legs to ask the questions as the ritual requires. You must answer fast, like a fish catching a fly.” He snapped his fingers to demonstrate. “And I will ask you in front of your family and all the village. Your family must answer you in the same way. Rodney McKay, if he has ears to hear, will know the truth, plain and direct and if he is brave, you will know the truth from him.” He grinned devilishly at John. “It has every opportunity of disaster, but somehow, John Sheppard, I think you may be a man accustomed to risk.”

John turned over and sat up, looking alert and interested.

Gata’nah nodded. “Good boy.”

_._~*~_._

Ronon led Rodney to a section of the river just below the village. He’d remained relatively silent for the entire walk, letting Rodney speak or not speak as as he chose, and nodded or murmured in reply. It was actually kind of restful, hanging out with Ronon and Rodney felt a little bit calmer.

“Ah,” Rodney remarked when they reached their destination, “a very picturesque scene.” The trees were in full, fresh leaf, having just passed the blossom stage of spring. Wild-flowering shrubs were beginning to add spots of color here and there, and all was lush and green and welcoming.

Ronon stooped and gathered a handful of rocks. “Still pretty muddy a month ago.” He gave Rodney a sidelong glance and skimmed a rock over the water. It fell just short of a boulder in the center.

“Hmm?” Rodney said, following the rock with his eyes. “Muddy?”

“When we were here last month; it was muddy.”

“Right.” Rodney collected a few rocks of his own, sat on a convenient rock and sorted through them. “Oh! When you were _here_ last month,” he replied, finally getting it.

Ronon pointed silently to a bush behind Rodney’s left shoulder. Rodney turned and looked carefully at it. It was about as high as Rodney’s head and had thick, short and very sharp-looking thorns, like some sort of rose on steroids. One lone, bedraggled strip of brownish linen remained dangling, snagged across several brambles.

“Ow.”

Ronon’s answer was a dry grunt of agreement. He skipped another stone – closer this time – to the boulder.

“Good thing you caught him before he reached the river,” Rodney said quietly.

“I don’t think he would have gone in. He was aiming for the tree, but swerved at the last minute.”

“Ah, yes.” Rodney took careful aim and tried for the boulder. His rock skimmed beautifully, but sank just inches too short.

Ronon snorted. “You’d have done a better job. Not hurt him.”

“Well…” Rodney fumbled, trying to be generous.

“McKay.”

“Yeah, I would have.”

“I know it.” Ronon skimmed another rock and hit the boulder. He nodded to himself.

They threw rocks in companionable silence for a few minutes. Both had hit the boulder several times and by mutual, silent consent, were attempting the elusive quadruple skip.

“You worry a lot,” Ronon observed.

“It’s a frequent side effect of vast volumes of knowledge,” he snapped as he waved his hands around his head, “coupled with _reality._ Your point?”

“This thing – with Sheppard today – I wouldn’t.”

“I’m, I’m not…” he glared defensively at the side of Ronon’s head. “I’m not!”

Ronon looked at him.

“Okay, maybe a little.”

“Okay, maybe a _lot_ ,” Ronon shot back.

Rodney slumped against the rock.

Weighing a rock in his hand, Ronon glanced over at him. “You’re worried things are going to change with Sheppard. In a bad way.”

Rodney nodded miserably.

“McKay. Do you think he was happy, this last month?”

“Well, yes, I suppose so, I mean, accounting for….”

“McKay.”

“Fine, fine, yes.”

“Yup.” He skipped his rock, punctuating the point. “So were you. You said so.”

Rodney nodded.

“Last month could have been bad. He was little. He had no voice, had to wait all that time - but he was happy. You were happy. What about that is going to piss him off?”

“It’s a little more complicated than that.”

Ronon rolled his eyes and threw several rocks in succession. “I have eyes. Only complicated if you make it.”

“Well, it's not just my choice!”

“Rodney? Ronon?” Teyla’s called.

“Over here!” Ronon called back. He put up a restraining hand as Rodney rose from his rock.

“I can’t pretend to know what Sheppard is feeling, but I know what I saw. And you know how bad he is at saying things.”

“Yeah,” Rodney snorted.

“No one else could have done what you did for him.” Ronon clapped him on the shoulder. “He’s a lucky man." He paused. "Except for the part where he keeps turning into things.”

Rodney managed to nod a few times, grateful.

Ronon affectionately shook him then clapped him on the back again. “We should catch up to Teyla.”

“Okay,” Rodney wheezed.

She was just around the next bend in the road, jogging toward them, her face alight.

“John is human again, we were just given word. Come quickly, I will tell you what I know.

“How is he? Have you seen him?” Rodney blurted.

“No, Gata’nah came out of the Spirit House and announced it. He has called for us all to gather at the river in few moments for the cleansing ceremony,” Telya said, a little breathless with excitement.

“Let’s get moving,” Ronon suggested.

As they turned toward the village, Rodney began peppering her with questions. “Ceremony? What ceremony? Do you think they’ll us see him if we get there early? Why didn’t you go in to check on him? Did the shaman say anything else?”

Teyla threw him an affectionate look. “I would have said immediately if I had seen him, Rodney,” she said softly. “I did ask; I am concerned for him too.”

“I-I didn’t mean to imply –“

She put a gentle hand on his arm. “It is alright. I should tell you right now, that no matter how fast walk, we will not see John until the shaman is good and ready.”

“That’s ridiculous! What good is ‘family’ status if we can’t see him? Wait don’t tell me; religion.”

Sighing in agreement, Teyla inclined her head. “The seeker – what they call the transformed person – is to bathe in the river to wash away his old self in preparation to start his life with the new knowledge of his spirit.”

“Right,” Rodney snapped impatiently.

“Might have a practical angle. No bath in a month,” Ronon observed. “Except for his own spit.”

Rodney shuddered. “Hadn’t thought of that,” he replied. “And he gets five o’clock shadow by noon.”

“Pretty hairy,” Ronon agreed.

“Grooming habits aside,” Teyla pressed on, “we are not to speak to John either.”

“For crying out loud,” Rodney whined, stomping a little.

“I agree,” she said icily.

“What’s bugging you?” Ronon asked. “You’re usually ‘honor the customs’ first.”

Teyla’s lips thinned and her chin raised slightly in stubborn tilt Rodney had seen in his sister a thousand times. “It’s just…I am looking forward to hearing the sound of his voice,” she said primly.

Ronon caught Rodney’s eye over her head and grinned. He bumped shoulders with Teyla. “Aww,” he said teasingly.

She bumped him back, hard. “Do not deny you feel the same thing.”

“I don’t.” He bumped her again, right into Rodney.

“Ronon!” she snapped, but a smile was tugging at the corner of her lips. “I am sorry, Rodney.” She reached out and smacked Ronon on the arm. He flinched dramatically.

Rodney bumped Teyla’s shoulder companionably. “I’m looking forward to it, too.”

She leaned into him. “I know you are. But we are not to speak to him until we are called. Nor he to us. I was told it is very important.”

“Whatever,” Rodney said airily. “He’s back, and he’s okay; that’s all I want.”

Ronon bumped Rodney by knocking Teyla into him again. “Liar,” the big man teased, ducking another smack from Teyla.

Rather than retaliate, Rodney started to walk faster, his eyes on the crowd of people gathered by the Spirit House. He broke into a jog, and then gave in and ran the last hundred yards. The crowd parted for him, and the shaman’s wife motioned them forward.

“You come in good time,” she called. “You are to stand here, as John Sheppard’s family.”

“Okay,” he puffed, catching his breath. Ronon and Teyla caught up and stood on either side of him.

“I am here in my daughter’s stead, she-who-will-be-Gata’nah when it is her father’s time to return to the Ancestors,” Shanara explained to them.

“O-kay,” Rodney replied, a little bewildered.

“We are honored to be here,” Teyla added.

“You honor us, grandmother,” said Ronon.

“Yes, yes; that!” Rodney said quickly. Ronon nudged him with his elbow. Shanara raised her eyebrow, amused and expectant. Rodney tried again. “Honored, grateful, delighted, really. Wonderful day. When can we see Colonel Sheppard?” He winced as Teyla’s elbow caught his rib.

Shanara’s other eyebrow went up and her smile deepened. Without a word, she turned and gestured to two young teenaged girls. They beamed and ran to the door of the Spirit House, their white hair ribbons rippling behind them. Hair ribboned girl #1 pulled open the heavy door, while the other, taller girl (hair ribbon #2) positioned herself carefully on the path. She stood very tall, serious about whatever it was she was about to do.

Rodney found himself squinting into the darkness beyond the doorway, hungry for any sign of John. Two figures wearing white walked slowly out of the dim building and Rodney found it hard to keep his feet still; everything in him wanted to move forward.

When they finally made it out into the sunlight, he was struck by John’s height. It had been so long since he’d seen him on two feet…he blinked, wishing he had some sunglasses, it was so bright and John was right in the sunlight walking carefully in his long robe.

His head was down, and he walked like he did when he was really tired and his knee acted up. He stopped, startled by the beribboned teenaged girl who had taken him by the elbow. His hair looked really long and floppy and when he turned his head to speak to hair ribbon #2, he had a scruffy-looking beard.

Hair ribbon #1 hovered behind the shaman, who stepped aside and allowed her to take her place just behind John’s other elbow. John spoke to her as well and shook his head. Both girls were frowning, and Rodney wanted to shout at them all to just hurry up.

Then John started walking forward, standing straight, if a little unsteady. He lifted his head, looked right Rodney and smiled.

Something in Rodney’s chest burst into hot, joyful flames, making it hard to breathe. Teyla’s hand slipped into his and he clutched at it, nearly vibrating with excitement. Beside him, he could feel Ronon shift to the balls of his feet, ready to move any second.

Blinking, Rodney willed the moisture in his eyes away and smiled back at John, who ducked his head shyly, offering a wry, private grin at being the focus of so much attention.

Rodney had never seen anything so beautiful in his life.

._~*~_.

Gata’nah walked to a flat boulder a few feet from the river’s edge. He glanced back to check John’s progress (about half way, with the ribbon girls’ hands hovering solicitously under his elbows) and addressed the crowd.

“My children, and honored guests,” he said warmly, “a seeker has returned to us.”

The villagers cheered and Rodney had a giddy, stray thought about the shaman and John playing Prime-Not Prime.

“Seeker John Sheppard has walked in the way of his spirit for the last turning of the moon; this is a blessed gift from the Ancestors and not one often given. This gift, as you know, came upon him unawares as he stood in brotherhood with us to honor our ways. Confusion, fear and an unexpected footrace descended upon us; the seeker was nearly lost before he took the path.”

Gata’nah glanced at John, who had reached the edge of the rock beside him. He grasped John’s shoulder lightly.

“John Sheppard struck out on his own and went to ground in a thornbush.”

John made an apologetic face at Ronon. The crowd chuckled.

“Bad beginnings can have good endings. Friends found the lost seeker, and allowed their own flesh to be torn to protect him from other perils. He was taken to good people who cared for him and allowed him to seek the path of his spirit. He has come back to us at the end of this journey, and the beginning of another. He stands before you, renewed in spirit. He stands before you a seeker who has found his treasure. He stands before you, a new path ahead of him, yet with the dust of his old life clinging to his skin.”

“Seeker, answer me true; where have you been?”

“A journey, Gata'nah.” John's voice was rough from disuse.

“What did you learn?”

“I am not alone.”

“Who taught you this?”

“My family, my friends. My city.”

“Seeker, would you return there?”

“Yes,” John nodded emphatically. “But I need . . . help. I’m tired. And I smell pretty bad.”

Everyone laughed until Gata’nah shot them a sharp look. John, in the meantime, had closed his eyes and was leaning into the shaman’s hand, clearly exhausted. The young girls gently eased him down to sit on a boulder. He shook his head, obviously trying to stay alert.

“Seeker, who comes to claim you?

“My family will come.” He smiled crookedly at his team.

Gata’nah walked in front of Ronon and frowned up at him critically. He looked at each team member in turn, his gaze piercing. “Answer what you are asked from your heart, understand?

“Yes, sir.” Ronon stood a little straighter. Teyla and Rodney nodded.

Gata’nah looked at Ronon as though he were a bug; as if they had never shared a meal or spoken before. He pointed, nodding to John. “Has this one come to claim? Name this man.

John looked up, squinting in the bright sunshine. “Warrior. Survivor. He challenges me." John cleared his throat. "Ronon’s my brother.”

“Are you this man’s brother, Ronon Dex? Tell me his name.”

“John Sheppard is my brother.” Ronon looked proud and it hit Rodney just how much those words must mean to a man who had lost everything.

“Your brother has need of you. He would be clean before he returns home, but he is weary. Will you help him? ”

“I will.” Ronon, a fierce smile on his face, strode to John and lifted him up in a huge hug, as John laughed weakly and thumped him on the back. Gently, the big man lowered him to the ground, as if finally realizing John’s exhaustion. Sheppard patted his shoulder and leaned against him, nodding to the shaman for the next question.

“Seeker, who comes to claim you?”

“My family will come.”

Gata’nah pointed to Teyla. “Has this one come to claim? Name this woman.”

“Leader. Wise. Strong. He paused, his eyes crinkling as he smiled. “Teyla Emmagen is my sister.”

Teyla put her hand to her heart and bowed to John in thanks, her eyes shining.

Gata’nah spoke softly. “Are you this man’s sister, Teyla Emmagen? Tell me his name.”

“My brother,” she spoke with words with calm delight, “is John Sheppard.”

“Your brother has need of you. He is weary. Will you help him?”

“Gladly.”

“If you will guide him to the river, then.” Gata’nah waved her in John’s direction, and followed her as she strode quickly to John.

Ronon kept a steadying hand on John’s back as he straightened to touch foreheads with Teyla. As they whispered greetings to one another, Ronon met Rodney’s eyes over the heads of the crowd and offered a reassuring, happy smile. Rodney was grateful – he felt so adrift.

He watched, helplessly, as Ronon and Teyla led John to the riverbank, taking turns supporting him while they quickly stripped. As they got down to their underwear, the young girls came forward, offering white robes like John’s. They murmured to one another and to John, then shrugged, stripping down to bare skin.

Gata’nah gave them low-voiced instructions as Teyla stood behind John and removed his robe, while Ronon bundled his dreads off his neck. Over John’s protests, he scooped John up and waded with him to the middle of the river. Teyla followed, carrying soap. She threw a wryly amused smile over to Rodney.

John kept twisting his head over Ronon’s shoulder. Finally he locked eyes with Rodney and smiled a tired smile. Rodney ventured a small wave. John waved back. Rodney felt about 20% better. It was hard to be so far away from them. He crept forward a few steps. Teyla was washing John’s hair (John’s _hair_.) while Ronon braced him above the water. John was rubbing at his beard and murmuring something to Ronon, who nodded.

After they rinsed his hair, which seemed to involve a _lot_ of splashing, Teyla swam to shore and received a another cake of something that foamed when she added water and rubbed it between her hands. She spread it on John’s face – dabbing a bit of it on his nose – and Ronon pulled a long, cruel-looking knife from his dreads. He tested the edge of it against his thumb. Rodney hadn’t realized he'd stepped forward again until a hand closed over his elbow.

“Best not to startle one man shaving another with a blade that large,” a familiar voice said in his ear. He turned to find Shanara, the shaman’s wife, at his side. “You must not go until you are called Rodney McKay.”

“I just wanted to –“

“I know,” she said kindly, “but please allow an old woman to beg a favor.”

“Excuse me?”

“My husband has chosen the old words for this cleansing; special words. He knows something we don’t about your John Sheppard.”

Rodney opened his mouth to protest, but she shushed him and slipped her hand into his.

“Wait. There must be a good reason for him to choose it.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean there are other things sharper than that knife Ronon Dex holds at his throat. Sharp words. I don’t know. Let me stand here with you until your name is spoken.”

She squeezed his hand, staring hard into his eyes. Rodney gulped and acquiesced.

“You’re being very nice to me,” he said faintly.

“Not many talk back to me.” she whispered dryly. “Not many are _able_ , I should say.”

“Wow, that’s usually my argument.”

“Well, then,” she patted him happily. “This made a nice change for you.”

Ronon splashed the remaining foam off John’s face, chuckling as John accidentally snorted water up his nose. John spluttered something that made the others laugh and Ronon slid the knife into back into his hair. They led John to shallower water.

“Gata’nah, our brother is ready to return home,” Teyla smiled warmly, damp hair clinging to her cheeks.

The old man turned to Rodney, his face stern and sharp. He glared at his wife, who shrugged and gave Rodney’s hand one last squeeze, but remained standing beside him.

Gata’nah faced John, who stood shivering a little in the waist-deep water. “Seeker, who comes to claim you?

“My family.”

“Has this one come to claim? Name this man.”

John blushed and swallowed hard. Rodney couldn’t breathe.

“A brilliant,” John said in a halting voice. “a brilliant…” He stopped, looked down, swallowed again, then took a deep breath and cleared his throat.

Teyla whispered something to him and John shook his head stubbornly.

Unable to bear looking at him any longer, Rodney concentrated on his hands, trying to steady his breathing and feeling like an _idiot_. He felt Shanara bump his shoulder and felt ridiculously grateful.

“No.” John’s carried over the water, his voice shaky. “I can do this.”

“What?” Rodney was suddenly furious. “What is so awful you can’t just _say it?_ Trust me, I’ve heard most of it before! Pig headed? Short-tempered! Arrogant? Come on! You dredged up a couple of nice words for everyone else! I took care of you for a _month!_ I brushed you every day! I’m sure you can come up with _something_ half-decent before you catch pneumonia! Or if you can’t just get out of there and get dressed so we can go home and I can forget this ever happened! Your lips are turning blue, you idiot!”

“He must answer,” Gata’nah intoned.

“This is crazy!” Rodney spat.

“I want to do it!” John yelled back. “Just shut up!”

“Well?” Rodney quavered. He gestured for him to go on, throwing him a sheepish look.

Gata’nah asked the question again. “Has this one come to claim? Name this man.”

John’s voice was strong, if slightly choked. “Brilliant. Generous. Patient." John swayed slightly, but kept his eyes locked on Rodney. “I _trust_ him. Rodney has my heart.”

“Oh,” Rodney whispered, lightheaded. He hadn’t expected that. He hadn’t expected _any_ of that.

“Do you hold this man’s heart, Rodney McKay? Tell me his name.”

Rodney looked at Gata’nah, trying to understand the words coming out of his mouth. The old shaman smiled, and pressed his hand to Rodney’s chest.

“Breathe, boy, before your lungs marry a fish.”

Rodney blinked. “That…you’re not making any sense.”

“I don’t have to; you do. Now look at that man and tell me what you know is true.”

The breath hitched painfully in Rodney’s chest. “That’s John.”

“And?”

“I have his heart?” Rodney whispered, his voice breaking. Across the water, John nodded, shy and happy.

“He has need of you, boy; go help him. He’s cold.” Gata’nah said kindly, pressing some fabric into Rodney’s hands.

Rodney fumbled at the cloth, realizing it was the big robe they’d wrapped John in before. He managed to get to the riverbank without falling over or getting it wet and unfolded it, holding it out in open arms.

John struggled forward a few steps, trying to shake Ronon and Teyla off, until Ronon grinned at Rodney, grabbed John and impatiently lugged him closer to shore. Everyone laughed – including John - releasing some of the tension, and Rodney took a moment to wipe his eyes and nose on his sleeve.

John kicked free of Ronon when the water was about shin-deep, put his head down and made the last few steps on his own. When he reached the bank, he raised his head and looked straight at Rodney, a strangely familiar, humble question on his face.

“You…of course you have mine, too!" Rodney flustered, a lump in his throat, "are you _blind?_ "

John walked straight into his arms. "Hey,” he said softly, rubbing his nose against Rodney's neck, "hey, now." He shivered, mumbling, "Just checking."

"So stupid. Both of us," Rodney fussed shakily, trying to fold the robe around John, while John interfered by making reassuring noises and getting tangled up. Finally, Rodney tucked John's head against his neck, bundled him up and held on tight. "I missed you," he whispered. "You...you know. I did."

"Rodney," John breathed, his voice slow and golden with affection as he slumped wearily into Rodney's arms. He brushed a sleepy kiss to Rodney's shoulder, hummed contentedly when Rodney pressed him close and acted like he was going to take a nap right there.

Then Teyla and Ronon splashed ashore and gathered them in, laughing and hugging whoever they could reach, getting Rodney soaking wet. He didn't care at all.


	32. The Road Home: Listening

Before Rodney could really process what was happening, all four of them were bundled upriver to the guest houses. Teyla and Ronon were given thick white cotton-ish robes like John’s with which to dry off, a cross between a caftan and a cloak that fastened with ties, easy for tired or cold hands to work.

The fabric was soft under Rodney’s fingers, damp where it clung to John’s skin. When he stumbled slightly, Rodney put a steadying hand on his back, and blushed to feel the heat of his skin through the wet fabric. John smiled at him, slow and gentle, and Rodney blushed again.

He really hadn’t been expecting this. And he didn’t have words to describe how he felt, which was rare, but it was so big he didn’t think his body could hold it all. He left his hand on the small of John’s back, drunk with possibility.

Teyla said something about checking in with Elizabeth and letting John get some rest before going back. Rodney stopped wondering if he could get away with holding John’s hand to listen.

“I fear there will be a great deal of excitement and medical testing, and I do not think you are up to it, Colonel.”

“God, no.”

Teyla beamed. “Then it is settled. I will check in with Elizabeth.”

Another disjointed set of moments: a platter of food passed by them into the guest house he’d shared with John last night; Shanara patted him on the cheek and told he was a fine man; Gata’nah grinned approvingly, ruffled John’s hair and kissed him proudly, like a son. John ducked his head, smiling. Ronon took John away into the sleeping room, over Rodney’s protests, but Teyla shushed him, led him inside and helped him with his over shirt like he was a toddler.

“You are as wet as if you had joined us in the river, she said firmly.

“Everyone is so _nice_ to me today,” he said plaintively. “It’s unsettling.”

“All is well,” she said, hearing the worry under his words, “let us take care of you. Rest.”

“But I don’t need a nap,” he said, confused.

“Yes, you do,” Ronon rumbled, amused, a bundle of cloth in his hand. “And someone should stay with John.”

Electing not to think about the wow of _that_ right now, Rodney pointed at him. “You called him John.”

Ronon shrugged, a little half-grin on his face. Rodney smiled back, bouncing a little. Teyla snorted.

“I believe I will bid John a good rest,” she murmured.

Ronon threw him a bundle of cloth. “Strip, then eat something.”

Rodney goggled.

“You’re wet, and it’s about time you had food.”

Rodney thumped down and struggled with his shoes. Oh. That might explain some of the lightheadedness. “You notice that?”

“Hard not to.”

Teyla bustled back into the room. Rodney blinked at her. Teyla didn’t bustle. She just flowed from place to place at different speeds.

“You were to help him,” she fussed at Ronon, and knelt to help Rodney with his shoes.

“You don’t have to – oh hey, Teyla.”

“Rodney,” she said with gentle exasperation. “Put on dry clothes and go to John before he falls asleep. _Quickly._ ”

“Oh,” he said. _”Oh!”_ and stuck out his other foot, ripped his t-shirt off and fumbled for a dry one in the pile Ronon had given him. Teyla wrestled off his shoes and stood, putting at gentling hand on his shoulder.

“I will take my leave now,” she said, her eyes sparkling, and lowered her forehead to his. “I am so happy,” she whispered, grasping his shoulders. “Happiest of all for you and John.”

“Thank you,” he whispered back.

Ronon leaned over, grabbed a honeynut pastry and stuffed it in Rodney’s mouth. “Leave the shirt off,” he advised, clapped him on the shoulder, and left with Teyla.

 

_._~*~_._

 

It took Rodney two tries to get out of his pants without falling over, but he managed it, and slipped on the loose white pants the Gata had left him. He glanced at the shirt, wrestled briefly with his conscience then slipped it over his head.

Hesitantly, he walked into the sleeping room and over to the bed. John was sprawled on his back, one hand flung up over his head. The covers were thrown back on the side opposite, as if he were waiting for Rodney. Or as if someone had turned them down _for_ Rodney.

Teyla and Ronon _had_ abandoned subtlety. He ventured a step closer.

John inhaled sharply and opened his eyes. “Hey,” he smiled, stretching, his body arching toward Rodney.

It was both familiar and so shockingly, sexily new, Rodney’s mouth went dry. “Hi,” he croaked. “Um, need anything? There’s food.” He pointed vaguely to the next room

John’s hand spread across the empty side of the bed, dark against the sheets. “Would you,” he asked shyly, “would you mind staying awhile? Maybe until I fall asleep?”

“No, no, that would be…” he elected to just shut up when John pulled the blankets back a bit farther and just slid in, turning on his side toward John.

John mirrored his position, and slid his hand over Rodney’s. “Hey,” he said again. “Sorry I’m so beat.”

“It’s okay,” Rodney realized this was true. “Gives me time to process.” He linked his fingers with John’s. “I, uh, wasn’t expecting this.”

“Smartest guy in two galaxies,” John drawled sarcastically.

When Rodney looked over at him, he caught an expression on John’s face that again, just as on the riverbank, was hauntingly familiar. “You’ve been trying to tell me,” he said slowly, squinting thoughtfully.

John sighed and drew their clasped hands to his chest. “Yeah,” he said, and nibbled Rodney’s fingers. “Mostly since you tried to kick me out.” His eyes drifted shut.

“I’m such an idiot.”

“Yeah,” John’s voice was sleepily indignant. “’m an awesome roommate.”

“Thought I was going to lose this,” Rodney confessed. “Lose you. The friendship. Everything.”

“Not a chance.” John murmured, then woke up enough to untangle his hand from Rodney’s and grumpily maneuver them until they were tangled together, John’s nose tucked in his favorite spot between Rodney’s shoulder and neck. He sighed like he was settling in for a long while.

“Make yourself at home,” Rodney groused, delighted.

“Kissing you, later,” John informed him, throwing his arm over Rodney’s chest.

“Whatever,” Rodney murmured, burying his smile in John’s hair.

“Mmmrrph!” John huffed. His belly twitched in indignation against Rodney’s side, reminiscent of when he was a cat.

Rodney snorted helplessly until John reared back and glared at him, then stifled his chuckling to stroke John’s back in long strokes until he fell asleep, heavy and warm and evidently, his.

_._~*~_._

When Rodney woke up, the shadows had shifted considerably across the ceiling of the bedroom, meaning he’d slept a lot longer than he thought. (Meaning, “at all.”)

He wasn’t going anywhere; John had shifted, one surprisingly heavy leg pinning him to the bed and a single hand fisted in his shirt. He was twisted slightly away, but hanging on as if to pull Rodney with him.

It was good that John was trapping him so firmly, otherwise, Rodney felt strange and unreal, fascinated by the way John’s lashes fanned against his cheek and the lush curve of his lower lip. It was easier to focus on one bit of him at a time. He’d forgotten how beautiful John was.

From some angles, Rodney could see the cat in John’s pointed chin, his long, elegant body, sleek hair, and of course, the boneless way he sprawled. He still didn’t have an answer to whether the cat had been John-like or the other way around, especially since he’d seen the same soft, shyly affectionate look on both faces.

Rodney realized he was borderline terrified of the way he felt now – now that something more was possible, probable and hello, very likely to happen soon, what with the bed they were sleeping in and all - and that _John_ , god, John was putting his heart in his hands. But, he reasoned, this was nothing he hadn’t already started on; this was a different part of John to translate and learn and be with. As terror went, this was probably the best kind of terror he’d ever felt.

Oh, he’d no idea how much he really wanted this. He thought he’d known, but lying here watching John sleep, knowing John _wanted_ him. The reality was very different from any fantasy.

John’s head was tilted back on the pillow, long throat exposed, utterly abandoned to sleep. Rodney’s palms burned to touch; rumple his crazy, floppy hair and press his lips to the pulse ticking gently in the hollow of John’s throat. Crazily, he wanted to try sticking _his_ nose in John ears, snuffling and nibbling, just to make him laugh.

But, maybe John didn’t want to go too fast, which was understandable, because of the being a different species for a month. It would certainly make the transition from platonic to more a little awkward, as well as something that sounded like a headline for “News of the Weird.”

Actually, a lot of life in the Pegasus Galaxy had had been like that.

“Grrrmph.” John growled, yanking on Rodney’s shirt. “Stop it.”

“What?” Rodney yelped, startled.

“Gimme minute.” John held up one finger, and yawned hugely.

Rodney had a sudden personal space freakout, trying to figure out how to politely extricate himself from their extremely compromising position without embarrassing both of them, particularly since parts of his body were waking up with John and so very happy that parts of John were warm and close and oh god oh god –

John twisted his upper body and yanked at Rodney’s shirt so that suddenly they were nearly nose to nose. Rodney gulped.

“Hey,” John said, frowning. “No second guessing.

“I wasn’t -”

John let go of the shirt and patted Rodney’s chest. He stifled a yawn. “Um-hmm. Cut it out.”

“I –“ Rodney melted a little under John’s hands. He still felt slightly bewildered and off-kilter.

John pushed himself up on his elbow and smiled down Rodney affectionately. He stroked Rodney’s cheek with the pads of his fingers as he kissed his brow and the edge of his cheekbone. “I should have done this sooner,” he whispered, smiling into Rodney’s eyes. Still smiling, he leaned in, gently brushing his lips over Rodney’s.

“Oh,” Rodney breathed, “I –“

“Shh,” John was keeping it light, easing into kissing with gentle licks and nips and slow sweet brushes across Rodney’s mouth. “Rodney.”

“Mmm?” Rodney cupped John’s cheek, trying to get John’s mouth to linger against his.

“At the river?”

“Mmm-hmm?”

“Meant it.”

Rodney gasped, about to reply, but John just sank into him, cradling his face with one hand while he took Rodney’s mouth, sweeping inside with devastating care. He shifted, covering Rodney with his body, and Rodney, sighing in agreement, spread his legs for John to settle against him.

“Oh god.” John’s breath feathered over his cheek, his cock rubbing against Rodney’s through their soft pajamas. Rodney felt dizzy as John pressed closer, kissing him so tenderly, which eased something tight and uncertain still coiled inside Rodney’s chest.

Instinctively, he rocked up into John’s weight and stroked his hands slowly down his sides, surprised when John tore his mouth from his to let out a long, low moan. He tucked his head in Rodney’s neck and shivered.

“The way you,” John whispered, and shivered again, his hips grinding down. John leaned up to kiss him, more demanding this time, making broken, excited noises against Rodney’s mouth.

“Hey,” Rodney managed to say between kisses, fighting against the pull of letting John just take over, “the way I what?” He threaded one hand into John’s hair and tugged lightly, wanting an answer.

John arched, pushing his head into Rodney’s hand – such a familiar, yearning response to his touch – that Rodney complied with the order, running his hand through the silky, too-long hair, distracted momentarily by its softness and the long, golden column of John’s throat.

He watched, fascinated, as John stretched and nudged insistently against his hand, humming with pleasure as Rodney scratched his nails lightly across his scalp. Rodney followed the curve of his ear with his fingers and slid his hand down John’s neck to his chest.

“Mmm,” John sighed, his eyes half-lidded, his gaze unfocused.

Rodney tapped him lightly on his collarbone. “The way I what?”

John’s eyes were shining, and he wore the humble, open expression that Rodney had recognized earlier. The depth of John’s gaze shook him.

“You talk with your hands,” John explained shyly. “The way you…touch me?” He ducked his head, bashful, into the safety of Rodney’s neck. “Still talking.”

Rodney’s whole body flushed with pleasure. “Yeah?” Wrapping his arms around John, he palmed his neck briefly before sliding his hand down John’s back.

“Yeah,” John sighed, wiggling happily. It was ridiculously sexy.

“I hear,” Rodney whispered, turning his head to breathe against John’s ear, “it’s even better if I actually touch your skin.” He ran his hand under John’s shirt and teased the fine hairs at the small of his back.

John snorted against his collarbone and shivered as Rodney covered every inch he could reach with long, luxurious stroking.

Humming happily, John turned his head and started devoting his attention to Rodney’s neck and shoulder, delivering teasing, biting kisses that got progressively more possessive until Rodney was growling with appreciation, two steps away just rutting against John right there.

“Clothes off, off, _now_ ,” he managed to say, trying to wrestle John onto his back.

“You have to let go,” John huffed desperately between kisses, trying unsuccessfully to haul off Rodney’s shirt.

John finally sat up, straddling Rodney’s legs, and Rodney followed him, pushing John’s shirt up as John stripped Rodney’s from his body. Inching John backward, Rodney licked and bit at John’s nipples as he fumbled with the drawstring on John’s pants, managing to strip them off and get John on his back pretty much simultaneously. Rodney knelt up over John, staring, his own rush to get naked suddenly derailed.

“What?” John panted, looking wrecked. His lips were kiss-swollen and red and he was stretched out for Rodney like a feast, golden skin and black hair and eyes bright green in the afternoon light.

Rodney shook his head and grounded himself by holding on to John’s ankle. “I can’t believe we’re here.” He gestured between them. “Just one of those moments of, you know….” He waved his hand in a circle, helplessly. “Momentary abstraction.”

John grinned with understanding and sat up, cupping Rodney’s hip with one hand. He worked the drawstring free of Rodney’s pants with the other. “Mmm-hmm,” he said slipping his hand inside and stroking Rodney lightly. “Not abstract.”

“Not abstract,” Rodney echoed, voice breaking a little. His eyes fluttered closed as John trailed his fingers entirely too lightly over his cock, leaving quicksilver trails of pleasure in their wake. Suddenly the touch was gone, and John was leaning back on his elbows, spread out and waiting.

Rodney pushed his pants down his thighs to his knees and crawled out of them as he made his way up John’s body. He slid his hands up John’s thighs, enjoying the feel of crinkly hair and hard muscle. Keeping his eyes on John, he bent his head and buried his nose in the crease between John’s leg and belly, inhaling deeply. John moaned softly, his thighs tensing beneath Rodney’s hands. “Not going to last if you…”

“Shh,” Rodney said, backing off to stroke John’s legs slowly to conjure up relaxation. John’s eyelids fluttered and he shifted, uncoiling and slipping fully onto his back. Rodney lengthened his touches to include John’s hips and lower belly, steering clear of his cock, though he longed for a taste of it; this was about John feeling good for as long as possible.

Kneeling between John’s legs, he waited until John muscles softened and his breath slowed. Rodney lightened his strokes gradually until he was gliding his hands over John’s hips and down the outside of his legs, before traveling back up over John’s knees to trail his thumbs up John’s inner thighs, caressing the soft skin of his balls every so often.

When John’s hips shifted in anticipation of the touch, Rodney waited. John’s movements became even more restless, and on the next upward pass, Rodney leaned down, licked a broad, wet swath up John’s cock from balls to tip and closed his mouth around the head, sucking softly.

John lifted halfway off the bed with a strangled shout. Palming John’s hips, Rodney anchored him, and worked his mouth down John’s shaft, tongue swirling. John’s thighs shook under Rodney’s hands as he fought not to thrust up, fisting the sheets and moaning.

“Rodney, I’m… _please_.” Johns hands feathered over Rodney’s hair, his jaw, fingers stroking.

Easing his hold on John, he relaxed his jaw and swallowed as much of his cock as he could. John’s hips flexed once, twice and he came with a long, low groan that had Rodney scrambling to pinch the base of his own cock, trying to prevent himself from following over the edge.

Rodney pulled away gently, giving the head of John’s cock one final, soft-mouthed kiss, and relaxed a little, resting his head on John’s hip. John was looking down at him with a dazed smile, breath still a little ragged.

“Wow. That was…wow.”

Rodney grinned and kicked his feet casually against the bed. “Good.” He ran his hand up and down John’s leg. “I could make you come again. Would you let me…um?” Rodney stopped, shaking through a wave of pure lust. “I could fuck you,” he offered, his voice rasping.

John’s eyes gleamed, “Wow. Or,” his voice lowered into a growling purr. “I could take care of you. For a change.”

If John kept talking in that voice, Rodney wasn’t going to need any help. He shifted restlessly against the sheets. “Wait, huh?”

“I want to take care of _you_ ,” John said softly, his voice still low, but he had a kind of an intent, dangerous look. “Let me.”

Confused but willing, Rodney sat back on the bed. He hesitated as he started to lie down. “Am I missing something?”

“Yeah,” John said with fond exasperation, prowling up the length of his body. “This isn’t happening,” he said, pausing to kiss him gently, “because you took care of me.” John leaned past Rodney’s cheek to whisper directly in his ear, “Though you were beyond fantastic.” He lingered a moment, attending to the shell of Rodney’s ear with his tongue, following it up with a slow, sucking bite to his earlobe.

He leaned back and smiled wolfishly at Rodney, “Got your attention now?”

Rodney nodded enthusiastically.

“Good,” John wrapped one big hand around Rodney’s cock and stared deeply into his eyes. “Not payback. You need to get that.”

“Okay,” Rodney said shakily, his arousal roaring back to full strength. “I –“

John kissed him quiet, pulling on Rodney’s cock with slow, strong, perfectly-timed strokes. “I _wanted_ you. Before. Long before.”

“Oh…”Rodney whined, high in his throat, his hands scrabbling for purchase on the bed as he rocked up into John’s fist. He could hardly _think_. John had wanted him? “When?”

“Dammit, Rodney,” John hissed, frustrated. “I’m going to touch you. Just listen.”

With a strangled sound, Rodney strained up into John’s hands, trying to obey. John plundered Rodney’s mouth, making him light-headed with kisses that were by turns passionate, tender, demanding, gentle and longing. Rodney clutched at John’s arms, keening for more. Continuing to devour Rodney’s mouth, John worked Rodney’s cock, adding a twisting, upward stroke and rubbing his thumb over and over in one tiny, maddening spot, right where is foreskin met his cock and _oh god –_

“Come on, you can do it, buddy. Let go,” John urged, speeding up his strokes. “Look at me.”

Rodney forced his eyes open and found John hovering just above him, his eyes not soft this time, but fierce and protective, aching and _hungry_.

“Making me talk about my _feelings,_ dammit…”

Rodney laughed helplessly, feeling that tight, uncertain place in his chest break apart. “John,” he said, wondering, watching John’s eyes. John nodded and kissed him, eyes open, mouth so sweet.

 _”John.”_ Rodney clutched at John, knowing he just might shake apart.

“I’ve got you,” he breathed against Rodney’s lips, “just let go.” Rodney finally broke into pieces on the cusp of white light and overloaded nerves, his ears ringing as he came with a hoarse, soft cry.

When he could see again, John was curled on his side, watching him with a sleepy smile. Rodney realized had semen on his own chin.

“Huh,” he said, wiping it off. He looked down at his spent cock in some surprise.

John grabbed one of their shirts off the floor and wiped Rodney’s chest and belly dry. “Pretty impressive, there,” he agreed, smirking with entirely justifiable pride.

“Hey,” Rodney said softly, reaching for him.

“Hey,” John smiled. “You okay?”

“Mmmph,” he said fervently, wrapping his arms around John, who draped himself contentedly over Rodney’s chest, yawning.

“More nap?” Rodney sank his fingers into John’s hair.

“More nap, ”John agreed, rubbing his cheek against Rodney’s chest.

They drifted for a while. “I wish you could still purr.”

John gnawed sleepily on Rodney’s neck, chuckling.

“Liking the biting thing,” he mused, rubbing John’s back. “Really like the biting thing.”

“Mmm.” Pressing his face happily into Rodney’s neck, John snuffled in agreement.

“Hey,” Rodney murmured, pressing the small of John’s back, “John.”

“Mmm?”

“I meant it, too.”

John leaned back and touched his face gently. “I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few appendices/post-transformation short bits/notes thanking betas to post, but, mostly, THE END. Thanks for taking the ride with me!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Artwork for Checkmate 'Verse by Bead (beadattitude)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4363064) by [danceswithgary](https://archiveofourown.org/users/danceswithgary/pseuds/danceswithgary)




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